Hereafter
by Marxbros
Summary: After TMR. Imhotep has raised Ancksunamun and conquered the earth. Rick, Evy, Ardeth, Jonathan, and some new characters must find each other to defeat Imhotep once more. Status: Complete.
1. The Dream

Title: Hereafter

Author: Marxbros (Marxbros16@aol.com)

Rating: PG-13

Notes: I wrote this after being inspired by Ruse's Who We Once Were, where she describes beautifully a possible future where Imhotep holds immense power.  I was intrigued by that idea, and this story is lightly based on that starting point.  Feedback is appreciated! :-)

Disclaimer: I do not own "The Mummy," "The Mummy Returns," or any of the original characters.  I did, however, create the characters of "Hubert," "Pierre," "Anjelica," and all of the other fictional characters that did not appear in one of Stephen Sommers' films.

**Chapter One: The Dream**

***

"It's so good to be home!" Evelyn O'Connell dropped the heavy bag she was carrying onto the hall carpet and glided into her living room, her arms spread wide.  "I miss Egypt when I'm here, but I always forget how much I love this place," she murmured, as Rick, struggling with several bags, stumbled behind her.  They tumbled to the floor unceremoniously as Rick moved behind his wife, putting his arms around her waist.

"What you really miss is time to be alone with me," he laughed into her ear, and she smiled.  "Welcome back to Merry Old England."

She turned to look him in the eyes.  "You pretend to hate it, but you love the peace and quiet of London when you're taking a needed break from our adventures," she teased, running fingers absentmindedly through his hair.

"If you weren't always getting us into trouble, we wouldn't need to go on so many crazy adventures," he rejoined, smiling down at her.  She was so beautiful, so lively, so full of life.  Even now, in his deep subconscious, there was the twinge of sadness as he looked at her, which he did not yet understand.

"You love crazy adventures!  You just use me as an excuse for causing them so you can be the hero and set everything to rights," she said shrewdly, pointing out his rather old-fashioned love of saving the damsel in distress.

He laughed then, and they grinned stupidly at each other as they reveled in the feeling of love and warmth and home and rightness.  Everything was at rights.

"I love you," he murmured, leaning down to kiss her.

"I love you too," she whispered, and for a brief, beautiful moment their lips met and passion and heat kindled within them.

Evy pulled away, a puzzled expression on her face, as she realized she hadn't heard any loud noises for at least a minute.  "Where's Alex?"

Rick groaned, missing her sweet lips.  "I'm sure he's just getting into trouble," he said, pulling her back towards him.

Evy shot him an exasperated look and walked across the living room and into the foyer, to see Alex rummaging through one of the suitcases.

"Alex!  What are you doing?"  Evy scolded, bending over to see what he was doing.

"I'm looking for my scarf, mom.  You said you packed it."

"You need it now?"

"I want to wear it."

"Now?"

"It will complete my costume."

"Costume?"

"Yes.  M-O-M, I'm using my imagination to make up adventure games in my head."

"And you want to look the part," Evy finished, Alex looking at her expectantly.  "Well, dear," she began, her lips twitching slightly, "you might well notice that we have seven suitcases, and I have no idea which suitcase your scarf is in.  And when you want to rummage through bags and open them up, it is better to do so in your bedroom, so you don't have to re-pack everything in the hallway."

Alex looked down at the mess he had made.  He looked away guiltily.  "Sorry mum."

Evy laughed, and Rick, coming into the room and observing the mess, laughed too.  "Well then," she said brightly, "let's find your scarf."

It only took them twenty minutes to find it, surprisingly, and Evy was not surprised either when, ten minutes after the celebrated discovery, she found the scarf lying on the kitchen chair.

"Rick, we have an insolent son," she said facetiously, holding the dear scarf up to the light.

"Hmm..." Rick said, moving closer to her.  "He must have learned that particular trait from his mother."

"Then it must be a trait you adore," she replied, tugging his shirt and running her lips over his.  "I've missed you," she sighed, suddenly serious.  And Rick realized that the recent weeks, with Alex's many disappearances and Imhotep's awakening, had been a huge strain on her.  And under her serious gaze, he reflected and realized just how glad he was to be home and away from all their crazy adventures.  Those weeks had been a huge strain on him too, although he was better at hiding it.  And husband and wife simply embraced, holding each other tightly as the sky darkened outside the window.

But time appeared to pass strangely, as the sky went from light to dark quickly, too quickly, and the night was inky and purple and ominous.

They glanced up, looking out the window, strangely not surprised at the bizarre actions of the now gone sun.  They no longer spoke, but suddenly they both knew, in the dim, gloomy kitchen, something terrible were about to happen.  Rick's stomach plunged, his heart raced, he braced himself for a horrible blow, the fear churning in his gut.  He knew, he _knew_, that someone was going to die.

And suddenly he was looking down into Evy's face to hold her, for comfort.  But she seemed cold, distant, as though he couldn't quite hold her firmly in his arms.

And then, things became confused.  Suddenly Alex was there, standing near him but not near him, crying as he did when he was a baby, sobbing in fear.  And Rick reached out, gropingly, trying to feel for his son, but he could not reach him.  He could not see him, for suddenly his view was obscured, he knew not what was in his way.  He felt a brush of Alex's soft, gold hair, a touch of his smooth skin.  But then it seemed as though it was just a voice, an echo of Alex that tormented and teased him.

And then Rick knew that Loch-nah was there, with his gang.  Except that the gang was not in the room, and Rick felt a little relief at that, that it was only the one man alone.  But Loch-nah did not move, only stood there, and seemed to grow bigger and bigger.  And although he did not speak, it was as though Rick could hear him saying things, hateful, cruel thoughts that, for Rick's mind, did not form themselves into words.

He reached for Evy, Evy who had comforted him and saved him so many times in the past.  He looked down and was looking at his wife, Evy, but then he was looking at the princess Nefertiri, a younger, darker woman, who was Evy but who was not Evy, who stared at him with deep bottomless eyes.  It was as though he was looking at two different women standing side by side within the same body.

And he tried to run, but he felt his feet cemented to the floor.  He desperately writhed, strained to loose himself.  He watched in slow-motion as Evy/Nefertiri's face twisted into a horrible grin, laughed as she was hacked to pieces, laughed and laughed as Alex was murdered, as their bodies become nothing but bloody heaps, but still her twisted, sick face laughed and laughed and tormented him...

***

The nightmare was always the same.  Rick O'Connell sat upright in his bed, shaking uncontrollably.

After a few minutes, the terror subsided, leaving him weak and exhausted.  The stone slab underneath him pressed uncomfortably into his back continuously, and it was impossible to rest.

He was in the slaves quarters.  And he knew, that for the rest of his life, his nightmare had only begun.

***


	2. So It Begins

**Chapter Two: So It Begins**

***8 months earlier***

The last thing Anck-su-namun remembered was the fierce, blinding pain, the startlingly red blood that seeped onto her hands.  She remembered how her vision blurred, her sticky hands limply grasping the knife protruding from her torso.  And the look of hatred and bitter failure on the Med-Jai's face as he watched her die.

***

The first thing she noticed when she awoke was the absence of pain.  She struggled to open her eyes, her hands felt clumsy and cold.

She felt, vaguely, a warm hand on her own, a hand that moved up her arm to her face as she stirred.

Memories began coming back to her, and when he leaned over her, stroking her hair, she immediately recognized his scent.  She lifted her hand, feebly, and he grasped it within his own.

"Imhotep..." she whispered, her voice dry and scratchy.

"My love," he murmured, stroking her fingers.

She slowly opened her sore eyes, and rubbed them with her free hand, blinking slowly.  She looked up, and met his eyes.  A small smile crept into her gaze.  "You succeeded."  Her voice cracked, and she did not notice the shadow of a smile that played across his handsome features, a smile of bitterness and irony.  He helped her to sit up, her body weak and feeble after so many years of disuse.  He lifted a golden cup of clear cold water to her lips, holding her back as she drank it down.

The water soothed her throat, and she leaned forward, stretching her tight muscles, getting used to her body again.

He moved closer to her, watching her move, the thousand year old feelings resurfacing, his love and lust for her growing in his soul.

She turned to face him, and she slowly ran her hand up his chest, remembering the feeling of his skin against hers.  "You succeeded," she whispered softly, disbelievingly.  "I knew you could do it...almost as powerful as the Gods..."  A lump rose in his throat, but her nearness, her heat, her dark eyes beckoned him, and he leaned down to brush his lips against hers.

The passion in that kiss surprised even him, and he realized how desperately he had missed her, her fiery words and intense love.  She was his match, his soulmate, and once again she was by his side.  The kiss deepened, and he reveled in the smoothness of her hair, the softness of her skin, the achingly pleasurable sensation of a deep hole in his soul being filled after many years.

The kiss ended, and Imhotep helped her to stand, still wobbly on her legs.  She walked a few paces around the room, accustoming herself to her body.  

As she walked, she rubbed her stomach absentmindedly, her fingers subconsciously coming to a rest just where the knife had protruded from her skin.  Feeling a slight bump, she looked down and saw a thin scar, winding at a slight angle on her perfect golden skin.  She touched it gently, it was warm to the touch and slightly tender.  An expression of wonder came into her face.

"I am alive," she whispered in awe, remembering the pain, the bright blood on her hands.

He kneeled before her and kissed the scar.  "This is the symbol of what you sacrificed for me," he said seriously, looking into her eyes.

She kneeled next to him.  "You sacrificed much more than life for me," she returned.

Abruptly he stood up and turned away from her, walking across the dark room and leaning against the stone wall.

Confused, she stood, looking after him.  "Imhotep?"

She could not see the tears of anger and relief and hatred in his eyes.  She walked towards him, but stopped, fearful of upsetting him.  Seeing his chest rise and fall awkwardly, she moved forward and placed her arms around him from behind.  "Speak to me, my lord."

He shuddered, not crying, keeping his emotions inside.  "To have you back, is like a dream..." he whispered.

She stroked his back and held him, for what seemed like hours, containing the tears in her own eyes.  As she held him, her eyes looked up and to the wall Imhotep was leaning on, and she stopped.  She let him go, backing slightly away from him, and for the first time looking at the room about her.  A frown crossed her face, and a look of uncertainty.

"Are we in Hamanuptra?" she asked, looking at a set of hieroglyphics on the wall.

"Yes," he answered truthfully, his eyes wet and luminous, turning around to see her.

"Then why are all the writings so faded?" she asked carefully, looking at him with the first hints of fear.

"Because it has been a long time since you were here last," he replied carefully, seeing the darting, fearful motions of her wide eyes.

"And where are your Priests?" she asked, controlled terror in her voice and the urge, suddenly, to run.  She edged slowly against the wall, away from him, as he walked towards her.

"They have been dead a long time," he responded.  He stopped several feet from her, and they stared at each other in the dead quiet of the death chamber in the bowels of Hamanuptra.

"How long?" her voice shook.

He stepped toward her and reached out his hand to touch hers, rubbing her fingers in a soothing, calming motion.  She seemed to calm slightly, relaxing her hand.  "Almost three thousand years."

***


	3. Slavery

**Chapter Three: Slavery**

***

"O'Connell!  Move it!" The guard yelled at him angrily.  Rick moved slowly, his feet shuffling, the heavy chains making it difficult to move at any reasonable pace.

Rick looked behind him at the long row of slaves, all sweating and miserable under the hot Egyptian sun.  Many were not Egyptian, but came from all over the world, people who dared oppose Imhotep and question his power.  People who opposed him were crushed, their families forced into slavery.  

Imhotep's rule of the world had truly changed it.  No land was untouched, no people not disrupted and forced into submission.  Imhotep could destroy an entire continent with his power over the winds and the waves.  Millions had already died.  Millions were in slavery.  One by one, the lights of freedom and hope were extinguished, all over the globe.

Among the slaves here in Egypt there were a few Med Jai, here and there, noticeable for their dark tattoos.  The other slaves stayed away from them, but the Med Jai knew Rick, and they were uneasy allies.  Rick was the soul brother of Ardeth, their unconditional leader.  In ordinary times they would be friends, would die for each other.  But in this new world everything had changed.

The Med Jai had failed in their task to control the creature, and with Imhotep free, their lives were full of nothing but shame and anger.  Like Rick, they would sacrifice their lives to kill Imhotep.  But they would do so for entirely different reasons.  For the Med Jai it was honor.  For Rick, it was love.  His life was wrapped up in two people who he could not live without, and who were under Imhotep's direct control.

Every day without them was torture.

But Rick knew that, when or if the time came, he could count on these scattered and disillusioned Med Jai to help him fight the Creature.

Rick did not even know if any Med Jai had survived uncaptured, or if Ardeth still lived.  Ardeth.  A flicker of a smile passed over Rick's face as he remembered his old friend.

They had been through a lot together, had trusted each other on blind faith in their toughest moments.  They were indeed brothers, Med-Jai, men whose souls were interconnected.  Rick did not know what role he had played in their past lives, or on what side they had fought.  But he knew, with every instinct he had, that their souls had known each other for eons, their relationship stronger than blood. 

Rick remembered how Ardeth had sacrificed in the jungles of Ahm Shere to help him and Evy find Alex, when Imhotep had awakened the second time.  He remembered how Ardeth had risked his life in the tunnel at Hamanuptra the first time they had met, battling the mummies so that Rick and Evy could escape.  That was even before they were married, before Alex was born.  How long ago that all seemed.

A mummy stopped in front of Rick, who was standing still, lost in thought.  "You're moving particularly quickly today, O'Connell.  I'd watch the daydreaming if I were you," he said, his black mummified teeth glinting in the sun.  With one, quick, fluid motion, he backhanded Rick, smacking him across his cheek and jaw.  He fell, half sprawled on the ground, holding his face.  The mummy laughed as Rick's fall pulled the slave behind him down too, the chains linking them to each other in life and death.

Slowly picking himself up, Rick glared at the retreating form of the guard.

One of Imhotep's pleasures was that his old friends, the mummies he raised from the dead, were his slave masters.  It was also one of his methods into scaring people into submission.  Many brave people did not fear a gun, or a noble death, but they feared a moving, talking, living mummy with superhuman strength.

He hadn't been afraid of mummies with superhuman strength, not when he had his weapons.  Not when he had his dignity and his family.  Evy and Alex.  Alex and Evy.  His wife and his son.  His life.

Alex and Evy had been ripped from him.  Each day he lived in terror that Imhotep would exact his ultimate revenge, and he would learn of, or see, his family's death.

It was not fear of losing his own life that drove him onward.  He was afraid, afraid every second of every day, that the ones he loved were in danger or alone or afraid where he could not help them.  He knew not where Alex and Evy were, or if they were in pain, or if they were hurt. 

He knew nothing.   Ignorance was the greatest torture Imhotep could ever have inflicted.

Rick did know, however, that a time might come, however far in the future, when Alex and Evy would need him.  And he would never, ever let them down.

He did the work mindlessly, the burning sun rising higher in the sky.  Rick suddenly became aware of one of the mummies standing over him.  "You're weak, O'Connell," the mummy taunted, watching Rick and two other slaves struggle with a huge stone.  Rick had no shirt on, and sweat glistened on his bronzed skin, his large muscles taut and rippling from hard labor.  "You thought that you could oppose Imhotep, the Great Pharaoh, with your puny strength...you are pathetic O'Connell, absolutely pathetic...if only your wife could see you now..."  The mummy cracked his whip on the ground and moved on, as Rick gritted his teeth and tried to keep the tears from his eyes.

He had vowed to himself that he would suffer all of Imhotep's punishments, and that this backbreaking labor would only make him stronger.

But the mummies were told by Imhotep to taunt him, to goad him, to humiliate him.  They left the other slaves alone and went at him, day and night, telling him lies about Evy and Alex, explaining how Imhotep would beat him now and would beat him in every lifetime.

It took all of Rick's self-control to bear it, to keep going.  And the horrible irony of his situation came when he realized that, along with thousands of unwilling slaves, he was building Imhotep's palace, the ultimate symbol of his power.

Rick struggled to stay alive so that when the time came, he could help his family.  He had not given up completely yet–Rick was not the type to admit defeat so easily, especially to himself.  But he knew, deep down, that a time might never come when he could help or save his family.  

He lived every day in the rotting hell hole as a slave so that, even if he failed miserably, even if he could never defeat Imhotep and would live forever in shame, he might be able to see Evy or Alex again, once in his life, before he died.


	4. Waiting

**Chapter Four: Waiting**

***

In the mountains, to the southwest of the Nile and the fertile river valley where Imhotep was building his mighty palace, Ardeth Bay plotted.

His life had been reduced to the knowledge that he and his people had failed, and within him lived the absolute and uncompromising need for revenge.  Imhotep would die.  Oh, how Ardeth hated him.

Ardeth hated him for many reasons, the least of them being the ancient hatred, ingrained into him and his ancestors, passed on for generations and generations.  No, the reasons that Ardeth hated Imhotep were numerous and new, fresh as newly spilt blood.

"Ardeth," a voice said deferentially, bringing him from his reverie.

Ardeth turned.

"Yes, Adil?" he said gently, turning to look at the young man.

"The scouts have returned."

Ardeth turned to face him completely, slightly surprised.  "Already?"

"Yes," the boy replied proudly.  Looking into Adil's eager young face, Ardeth felt a twinge of deep sadness, an emotion he had been feeling so often recently.  So much had befallen them in recent months, so many had been killed or ripped away.  This boy could not be older than nineteen, and yet he was ready to serve and die for his people.

Turning slightly to hide the wetness in his eyes, Ardeth asked, "so what is their news?"

"The scouts had a surprisingly easy time of it.  They were able to get within four miles of the palace site without any sign of Imhotep's mummies or human guards.  Apparently he does not feel such a need to patrol or safeguard himself."  

Adil paused as Ardeth smiled grimly.  "Then he thinks that he has killed us all."

Adil looked down.  "Yes," he replied simply.

Ardeth took a deep breath.  "Go on," he said.

Adil continued.  "At about four miles the scouts could clearly see the palace in the distance and the slaves, as well as the six main watchtowers Imhotep built.  They are not very high but can see a long distance.  So far, that appears to be the only defensive measure Imhotep has put in place.  His powers are so immense that he practically fears nothing, and the watchtowers are apparently much more concerned with keeping the slaves in check than watching for attacks."

Ardeth stopped him with a slight gesture of his hand.  "How do you know the watchtowers are mostly for keeping the slaves in check?"

"Well, Dalil described them strangely.  He said that three of the towers were standing sideways, and only two were facing completely straight into the desert.  One was close to the slaves quarters, and is presumably used to watch over them closely as they do their work and also as they relax at night, to stop potential rebellion from within."

Ardeth nodded, pondering his words.  "Continue."

"It is mostly desert out there, and so it is difficult in the daytime to get closer without being seen.  Of course, we cannot see anything useful at night from that far distance."

"Before we risk moving any closer to the site, before we risk any more lives, we must be sure of Imhotep's defense system and the routine of his guards," Ardeth broke in strongly, turning to face Adil completely.

Adil nodded.  "Once we know better where things are located, and we know for sure that Imhotep does not send out guards into the surrounding desert, we can begin getting closer.  When the building is nearing completion and we know the area well, we can begin scouting at night."

Ardeth nodded, satisfied.  "I will not risk any more lives than absolutely necessary.  Remind all of the scouts that their safety is of the utmost importance."  He paused.  "Imhotep does not know we exist.  We can take our sweet time to learn all we need to know.  There is no rush.  He will only become complacent in his power."

Adil nodded, encouraged.

Ardeth smiled at him.  "Good Adil.  Send Dalil and Hamir to me later, I wish to commend them on their fine work."  Adil nodded, flushed at the praise, and left, leaving Ardeth alone.

It was torture not being able to do anything, not being able to pull his scimitar and fight Imhotep like a man.   It was not easy for Ardeth to admit that the Med Jai were weak, and that they were nothing when compared with Imhotep's physical power.  Clearly, vast armies could not defeat the Creature.  Some, early on, suggested attacking Imhotep with the use of high speed bombs of mass destruction.  The Med Jai, and, thankfully, many others, were horrified, as they knew or came to realize that Imhotep would survive any explosion, ball of fire.  And he would relish watching the world destroy itself, placing itself easily into his waiting hands.  The way to get to Imhotep had nothing to do with modern weapons or advanced armies.

The secret was an ancient one, Ardeth was sure.  Imhotep was from another time and place, another world.  The way to destroy one with immense mystical powers was to go to the source of those powers.

What that source was, however, Ardeth was not sure.

Imhotep must have both The Book of the Dead and The Book of the Living, as well as the key to control them.  But Ardeth knew that there must be another way.  Imhotep had a weakness.

Anck-su-namun.

The way to get to Imhotep was from the inside, not from force but from stealth, from cleverness, from knowledge of the ancient times and the roles they had played within them.  They were all tied with unbreakable bonds to events in the past, to ancient love, betrayal, the murder of a Pharaoh.  History repeated in cycles, and to break it Ardeth knew that he must reach the O'Connells, the Princess Nefertiri and her Med Jai, his old friends, to defeat the Creature once more.

Remembering Rick and Evy brought a shadow of a smile to his face and a surge of painfully fresh memories.  Rick, the first time he had seen him, young and inexperienced and dying, wandering in the desert.  Even then, Ardeth had known that Rick was strong.  Evy, and the look of pain and betrayal on her face as Imhotep pulled her away and ordered the mummies to kill him and Rick.  The three of them, laughing as they rode away from Hamanuptra, surging with victory and triumph.  That had been before Imhotep rose a second time, before Rick and Evy had even been married.  How long ago that all seemed.

Ardeth lowered his head, filled with rage and helplessness and shame and utter sadness.  So much had been lost, and so much was at stake.

For now, scouting and learning about Imhotep's new home was a practical way to keep busy.  And it was true that Ardeth had no other options.  Learning about the holes in his system of defense was comforting.  And the more he knew about Imhotep's palace, coupled with the fact that Imhotep did not know he was alive, gave Ardeth hope.  The place was not impenetrable.

But he Med-Jai were indeed weak, and Ardeth was grateful for his unquestioned leadership.  Immediately after the attack, he had been afraid that his people would scatter to the four winds, their horror and shame and desperation driving them apart.  But his people were stronger than he had imagined.  They had banded together, stronger than ever, vowing with newfound vengeance and pride that the Creature would die.  Perhaps the Gods were merciful, for why did they spare Ardeth's life?  Without him, his people would surely have dispersed, run into hiding.  The knowledge that he had been saved, by pure chance when so many had died, let Ardeth believe that the Gods were on his side.

But how had Imhotep managed to rise again?  Ardeth himself often wondered how it had happened.  He had risen so quickly, acted so decisively, that there was no time for thought of defense.  Ardeth was in awe of how quickly so much could be destroyed.

Many stories had been told, most of them false, but perhaps in a few were elements of truth.  One tale told of some unsuspecting archaeologists, who, on a fateful last dig in pursuit of ancient knowledge, spoke the wrong words and opened the wrong door within Hamanuptra, releasing the plague that was Imhotep upon the earth.  Another told that halfway across the world, in her nightmares, Nefertiri reborn murmured aloud the curses plaguing her dreams.  Even those Christians who had seen Imhotep for themselves and the results of his power believed him not an ancient curse but an emissary from God, the bringer of the Apocalypse.  Was this destruction of the world not God's punishment for the sins of mankind?

Ardeth knew that all Gods are the same, no matter by what name or names they are called: Amun-Ra, Cerrdiwen, Jupiter, Adonai, Allah.  But he himself, in tiny moments of doubt, wondered if the Gods themselves had given Imhotep life, the destruction of the world a tiny part of their plans for the history of the earth.

In the end it did not matter.

Imhotep would die.  Ardeth would wait and bide his time while his information and knowledge grew and while his people became stronger.  They would close in on him, like a snake curls around its prey.  Then, they would strike.


	5. Explanations

**Chapter Five: Explanations**

***8 months earlier***

Anck-su-namun was a strong woman.  She did not fall, or stumble, or gasp aloud.  She blinked and stared at him, shocked.

"Three thousand years has passed since I was alive?"

Imhotep nodded slowly.  This was not easy news to take.  In three thousand years empires rose and fell, populations moved and migrated, plants and animals and forests became extinct as the world changed and humans pressed forward, trampling nature in their drive to expand.

"And Egypt...the Upper and Lower kingdoms..." she whispered.  She looked up at him, her eyes wet with unshed tears and failing hope.  "They are still..."  She trailed off, looking at his troubled face, waiting for an explanation.

"The Egypt that you and I knew, is..." he stopped.

She turned to him, anger and frustration showing on her face.  "Are you telling me that everything we ever knew and everyone we ever loved is gone forever?"

"The Ancient Dynasties of Egypt are long over, yes," he said.  He did not know what to do but give her time to adjust.  

She stared at him, disbelieving.  Her entire world was gone.

"And this new world?" she asked helplessly.

"It is a very different world.  They..." Imhotep hesitated.  "They no longer believe in the old Gods."

She turned and walked, pacing the room, the information trying to make sense in her mind.

"And the Pharaohs, the Med Jai, none of it remains?"  She asked, pleading with him.

"The system of Pharaohs has been gone for centuries.  The Med Jai, however, still exist."

"The Med Jai remain," she said, scowling, her ancient memories resurfacing, stronger than her relief at the information that something familiar still existed.  She paused, struck with a thought, turning towards him.  "If there are no Pharaohs, then who do the Med Jai serve?"

Imhotep was silent.  "It is complicated," he said finally, avoiding her question.

She turned and began pacing again, trying to decipher this new information, struggling to understand a concept no human can fully comprehend: the passage of time, the vast shifts and patterns of peoples.

Imhotep watched her walk, her body tense and rigid.  He had been expecting this reaction rationally, but somehow he thought that seeing him and remembering their love would be enough to overcome her fear.  But she looked desperate, like a trapped animal.

They stood apart, distant, each involved in their own thoughts.  Imhotep waited for her to say how she still loved him, how thankful she was that he brought her to life.  But there was nothing, only shock and anger.  His love for her had survived millenia.  Could she possibly be rejecting him, after all that he had sacrificed for her?  He shook with inner terror and despair.

"How can this be?" she asked him, looking up suddenly.  She held her hands out helplessly, as though she had just watched three thousand years pass by before her eyes in a heartbeat, while she stood still, rooted to the ground.

"Times change, my love," Imhotep said bitterly, not understanding her.

And for a moment, they looked at each other almost like enemies.

But the moment passed, and suddenly Anck-su-namun threw herself into his arms.  "Oh God, Imhotep," she sobbed, taking comfort in his embrace.  "I have never stopped loving you, I will live anywhere in the world at any time to be with you..." she whispered it into his chest as tears dampened her soft skin.

The dam of Imhotep's feelings broke, and the anger and fear seeped from him, until all he knew was her soft body pressed against his and the joy of holding her again.  Could it not always be like this, soft and lovely and the two of them?  God, he loved her.  She could destroy him with a look.

"And I have loved you too, more than anything," Imhotep whispered into her hair.

They held each other, all the terror melting away.  In each others arms, they could be happy anywhere.

After a long time, they parted, Anck-su-namun wiping her eyes, and they went to sit together on the stone bench.  Holding her small hands in his, Imhotep gazed into her eyes.

"There is something I must know," she began.  She hesitated, even at his nod of encouragement.  "You used your powers as Priest of the Dead to bring me to life?" she asked, turning to him.

He nodded.

"But how is it that you are still alive, three thousand years after your birth?"

This was the moment Imhotep had been dreading.  "Because I am not mortal any longer.  I am...something else."  He could not utter the words.

She stared at him, confused and uncertain, an idea taking form in her mind.  She grasped his hands tightly in her own, looking into his eyes.

"What exactly happened that night, after I died?"

Imhotep sighed.  He loved her and could not keep this from her.  And a part of him was desperate to share his story of terror and horror, to feel her love and compassion.

And so he explained what happened, the ancient tale taking new life as the memories flooded back to him.  He told her how his Priests had pushed him from the room just before Seti's bodyguards rushed in, and that the Med Jai guards blamed her for Seti's murder.  He told how Nefertiri was hysterical, ranting and screaming and claiming that she had seen Imhotep help murder her father.  

Imhotep still remembered her haunting, desperate cry, "_I saw him, the High Priest, in Anck-su-namun's rooms!  The man my father loved, the man my father trusted above all, and the woman he loved and would make his wife cut him down, hacked at his body, reveled in his blood!  They murdered my father, treasonous killers..._"  And how the Med Jai had to hold her down, thought her gone mad with grief.  She almost gave them away.  Every second Imhotep was afraid the Med Jai would come running in, ready to murder him as he prepared both Anck's and Seti's bodies for burial, and her dead body for rebirth.

Thankfully, his standing was so high, and the proper preparing of bodies such a sacred task, that the Med Jai let him complete his work.  Late that night, he stole her body from the crypt and, along with his Priests, raced to Hamanuptra.

"We had almost resurrected you," he said mournfully.  "But Seti's bodyguards raced in, finally believing the screaming Princess.  I saw you, for one blessed moment you came back, your face opened, you smiled, but then you were gone, your soul returning to the West, your body limp and cold."

And pressing herself against him, Anck-su-namun moaned in pain, living and feeling every horrifying moment with him.

"But that was not all.  My Priests were punished for following me–mummified alive."  Imhotep clutched her hand tightly.  "I cannot describe the agony it is to see your faithful servants, your companions in life and death, suffer such horrors."

Anck-su-namun wept, understanding the torture of mummification and understanding his pain at their deaths.

"But," Imhotep began, shuddering, "my punishment had just begun."

Wiping away bitter tears, she looked at him, her eyes widening as she understood the implications of that statement.  "What did they do to you?" she whispered.

"For murdering my king, the Med Jai inflicted upon me the worst curse, the most ancient and horrible torture that was known to exist."

She stared at him, breathless.

He turned sorrowful eyes on her, the anguish he suffered coming back to him, the memories pouring down his back like iced water.  He whispered it.  "The Hom Dai."

"No," she murmured, shaking her head.  "No, they couldn't have, it exists only in legend, it has never been done before–" she stopped, staring at him.  "No," she said again, looking at him.  "No!" she screamed, jumping up, swinging her arms in fury into the air.

He stood, moving to her, wrapping her in his arms as she cried out and writhed in her own personal agony.  "Oh, Gods!" she wailed, clutching at him.  "You did it for me, you risked everything for me, and look what has happened, what has become of you–" she couldn't speak any more, mumbling incoherent words of suffering to herself. 

His eyes welled with tears and repressed memories as he held her close.

Suddenly she broke away from him, her chest heaving, wiping her hand gropingly across her face.  "Is it true, what they say will happen?  The scarabs, and the pain and torture and fire?"

Imhotep could only nod, images, memories returning of scuttling scarabs clicking ominously against the white linen wrappings, searching for an opening into his warm flesh...

She gulped, her chest rising and falling heavily, her face tear-stained and wretched.  They stood apart for a few moments, staring at each other, emotionally exhausted.  Finally, after endless moments of silence, Anck-su-namun spoke.

"And is it true what they say, that you emerge a living Creature, a plague upon the earth with power over the waters and the sands, who will exist for millenia...?"

Imhotep stood straight and looked her in the eye.  "I am the Creature.  And I have risen you from the dead, as I promised to do three thousand years ago.  We are completing the cycle and fulfilling our destiny.  We will rule the world."

***

Anck-su-namun was beyond shock.  So much had happened.  Things that, in her first life, she would have deemed impossible.  And they had all been thrown at her in less than an hour.  

Gods, she loved him, but as she looked into his dark bottomless eyes she felt slightly uneasy, an emotion she wished she did not have.  The man she loved was not only not mortal, he was a living plague, a curse the Med Jai had sworn to control.  But as the memories of their tender love came back to her, her uneasiness faded, ebbing away. She loved Imhotep passionately, completely, and she would do anything for him and go anywhere with him.  She knew him, inside and out, and her faith in him allowed her to banish all other thoughts from her mind.  He had suffered more than any man should suffer in a thousand lives, because of their love.  She literally owed him her life.  She swore to herself that, in this lifetime upon the earth, she would prevent his suffering and make him happy.

***

That long night, they sat together.  They simply held each other, sharing memories, alternately weeping and laughing.

As the night advanced, Imhotep tried to explain what the new world was like.  But there were no words in the ancient tongue for airplane or car or election or democracy, and the language become thick and heavy in his mouth.  Imhotep was unable to explain the new world in a way that she could understand, feeling inexplicable frustration as Anck-su-namun shook her head in confusion and disbelief.  Just as she could not comprehend the idea of a steel bird carrying people, flying through the sky, she could not comprehend the idea of a Constitution, of a free people voting and choosing their leaders.  This suddenly dawned on Imhotep, as he realized just how completely the structure of the world had changed.  

Even in the past, all she had known was Thebes.  She had never been outside the city, although she knew more of Egypt existed.  She knew of the Nile, and the Sea beyond, and the deserts stretching to the West and South.  For all that she knew, the entire world was the size of a small African country.

Imhotep stopped explaining, instinctively understanding that she could never completely comprehend what three thousand years had done to the world she knew.

She looked at him helplessly.  Her voice was cracked and strained.  "Imhotep, I'm sorry...try again.  It does not make sense.  I–" she cut herself off, looking past him, struggling with her words.  "I just do not understand how a cart can move without the animals to pull it, how this is not magic...and I do not understand about this 'new country,' that was recently discovered...how can this huge powerful country just be discovered?"  She leaned forward and grasped his arms.  "Imhotep, help me..." she pleaded.

It was nearing dawn, and the two looked at each other, the air between them crackling with frustration and confusion and helplessness.

"I don't think, I mean, I don't know–" she looked down, a single tear sliding gently down her cheek.  "I don't think that I can live in this new world."  The admission came painfully, her throat tight and burning with repressed emotion.

Imhotep tenderly brushed her tear away.  He could not bear to see her upset and distressed, and that he was the cause of it was almost unbearable.

He pulled her towards him and reached a hand up to her face.  It was time to tell her of the destiny that they would fulfill together.   "You asked me if everything we knew was gone forever," Imhotep said slowly.  "Well, it was gone, but perhaps not forever.  We can bring it back."

She looked at him, uncertain.

"It is my time to rule.  The time of the Pharaohs was over, but a new Egypt can be born.  I have suffered enough, and it is time for us to fulfill our destiny."

She shook her head, not understanding him.  He lifted her chin up, probing her eyes with his own.  "History repeats in cycles, does it not?"

She nodded, the basic lesson known to all in ancient times.

"The Gods have created and resurrected me to complete the cycle.  I am here to bring Egypt to glory once again, to bring back the greatness of times past.  We shall rule a new Egypt–a new world."

Anck-su-namun did not know what to say, but she trusted him completely.  He had risen her from the dead and sacrificed eternal fulfillment for her love.  "Do you know that this is what the Gods desire?"

"They created me and allowed me to rise.  They bestowed immense powers upon me.  I have desired for so long the chance to be with you, once again, in life.  Our prayed are granted, my love."

She gazed at him earnestly, her despair slowly being replaced with en emotion that warmed his heart.  Hope.  "Amun-Ra is granting us life?" she asked.

"We have suffered.  But the Gods are merciful," he replied gently.

"And you can truly bring back Ancient times?" she asked, wonder and joy shining through her beautiful face.

"My powers are much greater than those of the mightiest modern armies," he told her.  "These people have defiled the old Gods.  They do not realize that the power of Amun-Ra is absolute.  Their weak, modern Gods are powerless and meaningless.  We must show the people the old ways, the path to the true Gods."  He paused.  "I will create Egypt, making the new the old, merging past and present."

Anck-su-namun squeezed his hands, unable to speak in her emotion.  Her eyes were wet, her voice full of regret and hope and guilt.  "You have done so much for me, my love."

Imhotep gathered her in his arms and crushed her to his broad chest.  "I promise you," he whispered into her hair.  "I would do anything for our love.  For you I will recreate Egypt as it was three thousand years ago."

She embraced him tightly, then drew back slightly to look into his eyes.  "You shall be Pharaoh," she said in disbelief, a smile flowering on her face.  "And we will live as we should have lived, free and loving.  And I shall rule by your side as your Queen."

Imhotep laughed, joy suffusing his face.  "It will be easy.  I have such powers that no human can match me.  We shall rule the new Egypt in the names of the true Gods."

Anck-su-namun caressed his face.  "May the world soon be only Egypt, our true home and rightful ruling place."

He leaned forward, their lips meeting.  The kiss soon deepened, became passionate, bruising, as their hungry lips sought the comfort the other offered.  Welling inside each of them was hope for the future, the promise of a long life together.  The lifetime together that they had been denied by the Gods.

Imhotep had been resurrected twice before and had both times been defeated by the O'Connells and the Med Jai, a fearsome combination.  This time, he would not fail.  He deserved happiness and fulfillment after three millenia in torture.  He deserved the happiness that had been denied him, the happiness of life in Ancient times with Anck-su-namun by his side.

He knew, instinctively, that she would shrink and become helpless in the modern world.  He vowed never to let that happen.  He vowed never to let her see how much the world had indeed changed.

And Imhotep truly believed that this was his chance.  The Gods were merciful, and were allowing him an opportunity to be with his love once again.  He would be a fool not to take it.  And, in the process of fulfilling his destiny, he would be a fool not to take his revenge.

Perhaps, he pondered, the Hom Dai had been part of the Gods plan.  Without it, Imhotep would not have the amazing powers he did, would not have the power to conquer the world.

When he had woken up, he had been lying on a stone slab in Hamanuptra, with the Book of the Living by his side.  He had no idea how he had been awoken.  But how did the Gold Book end up by his side?  The Gold Book had the power to take life away.  If Imhotep had it, he could not be defeated, for no one could make him mortal.  It seemed a divine sign, a message from Amun-Ra.  Imhotep had desired redemption and grace for so long, and he was finally being granted his one wish. 

The kiss finally broke, both consumed with their passion and need.  They continued to hold each other, still overwhelmed by what had happened and what they would accomplish together.  Imhotep could hardly believe that earthly happiness could finally be his.

Suddenly Imhotep smiled, pulling away slightly.  "I have one last present for you, my Queen," he said, his eyes slightly mocking.  "I know where Nefertiri is."

A slow, ironical smile spread across Anck-su-namun's face.  "You mean Nefertiri reborn?"

"Yes.  In this life she is married to a reincarnated Med Jai."

Anck-su-namun laughed.  "How perfect."  Her smile faded to a bitter twist of her lips.  "I died because Seti's Med Jai stormed the room and there was nowhere to go.  But I was dying long before that."  

Her eyes glistened with the pain of ancient memories.  "Seti and Nefertiri took my freedom and watched me die slowly, shrinking under the weight of their power."  She shook with anger.  "And now I learn that she was the one who gave you away to the Med Jai, who prevented my rebirth and forced the most evil of all ancient curses on your soul."  She stood, her small fists gripped tightly together, her face hard and cold.  "In ruling the world, the Gods are giving us our chance for redemption.  We were revenged on Seti when he died by our hands, but Nefertiri escaped.  In this life, she will pay."

***


	6. The Resistence

**Chapter Six: The Resistance**

***

Jonathan never thought that the Eiffel Tower would become a symbol of subjugation.

But there he was, scurrying through the Parisian streets, trying to avoid getting anywhere near it.  On both the first and second levels, Imhotep's troops were stationed, keeping an eye on everything that they could.  Imhotep was particularly concerned with Paris, because it was here that the resistance movement was the most powerful and organized, and here the most militant.  

He walked quickly, keeping his head down.  The wind whisked against his face and his eyes teared slightly in the cold.  In these times, it was prudent to be as unnoticeable as possible, to blend in, to have people forget his face a minute after speaking with him.  He had no doubt that Imhotep remembered him, and remembered him well.  It was practically a miracle that the Creature had not sought him out to personally punish him, as he had with Evy, Rick, Alex, and the Med Jai.  When Imhotep had come for the O'Connells, Jonathan had been in Dublin, visiting old friends.  How lucky that weekend trip had been.  If he had been staying with his sister, as he often did, when Imhotep had showed, Jonathan knew he would be a slave as well.  And then he would have absolutely no way to help Evy or her family.

Jonathan suspected that Imhotep had not bothered to seek him out because, unlike his sister and her husband, Jonathan was not a Princess or a Med Jai reincarnated.  He had not played a role in the ancient cycle.  The High Priest may have wished for personal vengeance against him, but his hatred of Jonathan was recent, and therefore cut less deep. 

Jonathan had no doubt that if presented with the opportunity, however, Imhotep would relish taking revenge.  Thus he, especially, needed to keep a low profile.

These last months had changed Jonathan.  He was no longer the carefree, fun-loving rascal he had been before Imhotep's rule.  He was harder, more serious, tougher, angrier.  Of course there was still much of the old Jonathan in him.   He was still the practical joker, usually optimistic and happy.  It was just that he had suddenly assumed more responsibilities, was faced with high stakes and more dire consequences.

It was when the resistance had scored a big victory, during times of triumph, when he was able to forget his fears for Evy and her family.   Jonathan drank and was lively and pretended, for those few hours, that it was the old days, that nothing had changed.

He suddenly veered off the main street and moved stealthily down an alley, his shoes silent on the cobblestones.  He walked about a block, then stopped, knocking three times on an ordinary wooden door.  A small slot opened briefly, a single brown eye staring up at him.  The door swung open.  Jonathan slipped inside, and the wooden door shut silently behind him.  The alley was cold and empty, as if no one had ever been there.

"Jon," Jacques voice broke into Jonathan's thoughts as he put down his sacks and removed his coat.  "You get what we needed?"

Jonathan grinned.  "Enough for a few days, at least."

Jacques nodded.  "Good, bring it to Margot in the kitchen."

Jonathan lifted the sacks and walked down the dark hallway towards the kitchen.  It was dim in the hallway.  As he walked his arms skimmed the dark wood paneling.  Pausing at the kitchen door, he shifted the weight of the bags in his arms and pushed his shoulder into it.  As the door swung open, harsh light poured into hallway, and he blinked, his eyes unused to the brightness.  He stood dumbly for a few moments.  Margot's laugh interrupted him.

"Having a little trouble there Jon-Jon?" she chuckled as deposited the bags by stumbling blindly into the room and dumping them onto the nearest table.  He rubbed his eyes as they adjusted.

"Thank you for your support, sweetie," he said cheekily as she laughed again.

She was a large, overweight woman with messy brown hair.  She must have been around forty years old.  Jonathan liked her, and felt sorry for her.  He knew that her son had been killed by Imhotep's armies, and she helped the resistance by cooking their meals.  It was the only way she could help.

"Oh, you again," she said, but she was smiling.  She liked Jonathan.

"I'll let you know, Margot dear, that I never miss an opportunity to amuse you," he said grinning.

"You mean unintentional amusement?" she asked, smiling.

"You know, old mum, that every funny thing I do is planned for your enjoyment."  He bowed awkwardly, and, laughing, turned and started making his way back down the dark corridor.

"You're nothing but trouble, Jonathan Carnahan!" she called after him.  He grinned over his shoulder and continued down the long hallway.

Jacques turned as Jonathan entered the darkened room.  They were operating in several brownstone houses, in thin dark rooms.  It was dangerous for too many of the resistors to live together, so they were spread out all over Paris.  But the main leader of the Paris branch was Jacques, who lived in the Latin Quarter.  Jonathan, as the only man to help defeat Imhotep still out of captivity, lived with Jacques and the leaders of the movement.  "The supermarket didn't give you any trouble, did they?" he asked, raking his hand through his thick brown hair.

Jonathan shook his head, his mood plunging from light and cheery to serious.  "Actually, as I was getting the bag, the clerk whispered a personal thank you for our efforts.  I have a feeling that most of the shopkeepers and storeowners will be more than happy to assist us."

Jacques turned more fully to face Jonathan.  "Jon, you must be careful," he said raggedly, betraying how little he had slept in the past few days.  "Any one of them could be spies.  We must only take from Ousmane, and only during the hours I have specified.  We know the loyalty of so few.  And we cannot risk being found out, not for free supermarket goods."

Jonathan nodded.  "Yes, old chap, I know..." he walked over and plopped down in a large armchair.  "It's so hard pretending all the time, hiding as though we were doing something wrong..." Jonathan sighed, leaving his sentence unfinished.

Jacques nodded, and plopped down on the couch opposite Jonathan. "I know," he said.

There was a pause.  Jacques sighed heavily and leaned forward.  "We have lost contact with our American agents in New York.  I sincerely hope nothing has happened to them, I hope Imhotep's guards have not found them..." he trailed off, looking at the wall.  "Jon, we are running out of options."

Jonathan leaned forward pointedly.  "That is why we must find the books."

Jacques sighed again.  "Jonathan, it is difficult searching for books that may not even exist.  Even if they do exist, they could be anywhere in the world, or are probably already in Imhotep's possession."

Jonathan shook his head.  "They exist.  Jacques, I have seen them, I have held them in my own two hands.  My sister Evy," he paused, just for a second, to force back tears he knew would come if he thought about her, "read from the Gold Book herself, which is what made Imhotep mortal the first time we encountered him.  Jacques, they are real."

Jonathan looked down, and slowly reached into his pocket.  He withdrew a small, seemingly unremarkable, box.  It was a dull silver in color, but even in the dim light, resting innocently on his hand, it seemed to exude a presence, a barely contained, sinister power.  "This is the key to our problems," he said, his lips twisting slightly at his unintended pun.  He flipped the switch and the key hissed as it opened, spreading its wings.

"Jacques, we have a hidden weapon.  We have the key to the books, without which Imhotep has no use for either one.  He does not know that we have it.  This can be used to our great advantage."

Jacques stood up, starting to pace around the room.  "If we knew where any of the books were.  If Imhotep has them both, even with the key what power do we have?"

Jonathan stood too.  "That is why we must find the remaining Med Jai."

Jacques turned.  "It is said that those ancient warriors are all dead."

Jonathan looked at him.  "But they might not be."

Jacques hesitated, then exhaled heavily, sinking back down onto the couch.  "I have been so strong, for so long, and I am so tired."  He took a deep breath, then looked up.  "You are right, of course.  We must try anything."

Jonathan smiled grimly, a facial expression Evy had never seen him make.  He remembered back to Ahm Shere, when they had resurrected Evy.  How easy it had been, to restore life like that!  How much simpler things had been then.  It had been them against the Creature.  It had always been him and Evy, his baby sister, and Rick and Ardeth, fighting for what was right.  Now everything was more complicated.  Rick was a slave, Ardeth was probably dead.  And Evy.  His precious, darling baby sister.  Evy.  She could be dead too.  The thought made Jonathan want to rant and scream and cry.

He had never been too good at protecting her, although he always promised her he would.  And he had no idea where she was or if she was hurt.  Even if he did know he was powerless to help her.  After their parents died Evy and her family became Jonathan's life.  He knew he often screwed around, chased after pretty women and drank and gambled.  But he hoped, more than anything he had ever wished for, that Evy knew how much he loved her.  Because Jonathan was afraid he would never get to tell her that.  There were so many things Jonathan wished he could tell her.

But times had changed.  Nothing was easy anymore, or simple.  He just hoped Evy knew.  He vowed to himself that he would do everything he could to find her and defeat Imhotep and set her free.  And Jonathan knew the key was their chance.

He remembered, ages and ages ago it seemed, how Alex had raised Evy from the dead by reading Ancient Egyptian from the Black Book.  That had only been a year and a half ago.  Alex was such a smart little boy!  His sister's child.  Evy's child.

Evy had saved Jonathan from being killed by Anck-su-namun at the last moment, stopping the killer blow.  Evy had saved him more times than he could recall.  She was so brave.  He missed her so much.

And as they ran down the hallway to help Rick, Alex had handed him the key.  "Hold onto it, Uncle Jon," Alex had said.  So Jonathan had kept the key, pushing it down into his trouser pockets and forgetting about it, forgetting about it until he had pulled it absentmindedly out of his pants in the hotel room a week later.  Jonathan allowed himself a small smile at the knowledge that Imhotep assumed the key was buried in the deserts of Ahm Shere.

"Imhotep cannot be everywhere at once," Jonathan said.  "There is a way to defeat him, and a way to trick him.  We must find the books and take them to the Med Jai.  There is no other way."

Jacques paused.  "Were it not for your role in the past, I would not believe you.  But I trust you.  You have dealt with this creature before and won."

Jonathan grinned.  "You mean you finally believe the fairy tales and the legends?"

Jacques smiled ruefully.  "I do not know how much to believe.  Some of the stories contain such," he hesitated, searching for the right word, "spectacular elements." 

Jonathan laughed.  "Whatever part of the story you think is the most unbelievable," he said, "is the part that is probably true."  The tale of how they had defeated Imhotep not only once, but twice had circulated rapidly.  At first it was used as a rallying cry.  When the great armies of the world gathered in their darkest hour to fight Imhotep, the tale was Truth, it was the possibility of salvation.  It was only after, when Imhotep had gained complete control, that the story become legend and myth, a tale of gallant and handsome heroes and the beautiful woman who stopped the Creature and twice saved mankind.  It became a story of the resistance, a story of the oppressed.

Jonathan sometimes stopped and listened to it being told in the streets of Paris.  The storytellers were marvelous, and Jonathan sometimes found himself getting caught up in the noble majesty of what they had accomplished.  Of course, the story had been changed in some ways, and Jonathan sometimes snickered at his own noble portrayal.  None of the awed crowds suspected that one of the main characters was standing right beside them, a hapless, ordinary fellow.  But he and Evy and Rick and Ardeth had become heroes in the public eye, four names that were on everyone's lips, a story that bound the world together in the fight against Imhotep.  Their story gave people hope.

Jacques stood, looking at Jonathan philosophically.  "It is known all over the world the story of Imhotep and Anck-su-namun, and how three thousand years ago they murdered the Pharaoh for their love.  It is known that Imhotep became a walking plague, a living Creature, a man with insurmountable powers.  It is accepted that Anck-su-namun was brought back to life, and that Evelyn O'Connell, a modern woman, was Nefertiri, the Princess of Egypt."  He paused, looking off into space.  "It used to be that people would never believe such stories, tales of reincarnation, ancient curses, mystical powers, people rising from the dead.  Now, people have seen such spectacular horrors that they believe anything."

Jacques took a few steps across the room and stopped at the fireplace, resting one arm on its marble mantle.  "I have sworn myself to the Resistance, to die fighting the creature.  But how can we fight a creature with powers not of this world?"  He sighed.  "Jon, even if we get the books, how can we hope to defeat him?"

Jonathan reached over and grasped Jacques by the shoulders.  "We must," he said.  And in the silence, in a dark room hidden under the streets of Paris, they made the sign of the resistance.

And, halfway across the world, in his beautiful palace, Imhotep held Anck Su Namun.  Both of them in love, both joyous.  Both unsuspecting.

***

**Thanks so much to my reviewers for the early encouragement...I definitely wouldn't have continued if it hadn't been for you guys.  -Marxbros**

***


	7. Conquering the World

**Chapter Seven: Conquering the World**

***Egypt, the present***

Anck-su-namun stood on her balcony, watching the sun sagging lower and lower in the sky.  It was absolutely beautiful, and she could almost imagine that she was back in Egypt in Ancient times.  She never thought that she would wish to go back.  But in her was the inexplicable longing for home, for the place of her birth.

But those were only fleeting thoughts, because then she remembered how trapped and meaningless her life had been until she had met Imhotep.  He had saved her, really, because his love had purified her.  And now they were finally together again.  A smile of relief and wonder passed over her face.  It was so hard to believe.

She could hear Imhotep's soft steps behind her, and she waited for the feel of his strong arms around her.  A second later they came, his warm body pressed against hers.  They embraced lovingly, his face buried in her hair.  A sigh of contentment escaped her lips.

There was no black and gold paint to worry about, this time around, but she had trained herself rigidly to never touch another human being, besides, of course, Seti, when he was in the mood.  But she could not get completely used to Imhotep sneaking up behind her to wrap his arms around her.  Sometimes, when she forgot, when she stood remembering her past and she felt warm arms on her skin, she still experienced a split second of absolute terror.

She had gotten used to it, mostly, by now.  But the fear never completely went away, fear that came with a life lived belonging to a possessive and jealous man.

"Hmmmm," he murmured into her hair.

She smiled and reached up and stroked the side of his face.  "Sometimes I still can't believe it," she said.

"I know.  I have waited three thousand years for this," he replied.

They stood there for several moments, just holding each other.  It seemed so right.  It was times like these that her doubts just melted completely away.

"Has it really only been eight months?" she asked softly, awe in her voice.

His low, rumbling chuckle was her answer.  "Has time passed that quickly for you, my love?"

"It is just so unbelievable.  Sometimes I think that this is all a dream."  She paused, trying to find the right words to express her confused emotions.  "I think that I will wake up one day and find out that I am once again just a whore."  She shuddered.

He clutched her tightly and then spun her around to look him in the eyes.  "I swear to you, my Anck-su-namun, that those days are over.  You will find nothing but peace and happiness from now on."

He folded her into his arms, her eyes wet with tears.  Everything was so wonderful, so perfect.

Suddenly Anck-su-namun's peace was shattered by a horrible, grating, and most unnatural sound.

Imhotep's arms released her.  "My messengers must be here."  He gave her arm one last squeeze before disappearing down the hall.

Anck-su-namun would never be used to the sounds of cars and trucks and airplanes, inventions she could not understand.  In fact, she could not accustom herself to the most basic of modern inventions.  The idea of using a clock to understand the passing of time seemed ridiculous.  It did not matter what hour it was, it mattered how long the sun stayed in the sky and how many hours it would be until sunrise.  The numbers seemed arbitrary and silly to her.

Imhotep explained that since the rest of the world operated by this time table that he must also in able to control it effectively.  She believed and trusted him, but she felt uneasy in this new world, that lived by completely different laws than the old.

She walked across her room to another balcony, and she could see, about a quarter of a mile away, Imhotep speaking with three men.  They were clearly mortals, and Anck-su-namun recognized one of the men as one of Imhotep's translators.  This man could speak eighteen languages, he was an amazing linguist and historian.

All of the translators who Imhotep used were fluent with the major languages of the world, as well as Hebrew, Ancient Egyptian and Hieratic.  Imhotep wanted men who could speak all of the necessary languages, he did not want one person translating a letter from English into Arabic and another from Arabic into Ancient Egyptian.  Too many people along the chain and the true nature of the message would be lost.  Thus, the translators were all accomplished and skilled linguists.  It was important, moreover, that they speak Hebrew and be able to write Hieroglyphics.  No one in the modern world could speak Ancient Egyptian–although the linguists themselves were, admittedly, fascinated, and tried to learn the dead language.  To them, Hierglyphics was a written language, like Latin, not to be spoken.  So they would translate the written words into Hieroglyphics, for Imhotep's records, while they could discourse with him in Hebrew.  It was a clever system, that seemed to be working flawlessly.

The translators lived in the palace and translated all of Imhotep's documents and messages.  There was no question of loyalty, for whenever Imhotep had to understand an important document, he had two or sometimes three of his translators decode the document separately.  There was no chance for them to agree on a way to alter the document to hurt Imhotep beforehand.  Besides, the translators were so frightened of the Priest he would do anything.

Her Love was very, very thorough. 

She watched as Imhotep concluded his business.  All three men bowed, looking nervously at Imhotep's personal mummy guards, who stood watching the transaction impassively.  Two of the men headed toward the large bird while Imhotep and the translator disappeared inside the palace.  She stood watching the airplane, this huge, heavy, steel winged creature hum with life, and eventually fly into the sky.  It was absolutely unbelievable.

She was still watching it as it became smaller and smaller on the horizon when Imhotep reentered the room, dusty and tired.

She did not ask him about his business.  Not because he wouldn't tell her, but because something about it made her feel uneasy.  She knew that he had killed many, and she did not want to know the whole truth.  If she did not know, she could enjoy their peace and security without guilt.  She shoved her questions to the back of her mind and thought only of how happy she was to be with her love again.

He walked towards her and took her hand, leading her to the balcony.  They looked out over the Nile, glittering in the afternoon sun.  Although the people and populations were different, the desert was the same.  The rolling dunes stretched to the horizon in timeless beauty.  The Nile sparkled, curving and clear as it ran through Egypt in its endless course.

It was comforting to know that some things would never change.

Imhotep's voice broke into her thoughts.  "Looking forward to the completion of our home?" he asked, turning towards her.

She smiled in response.  "It is, it will be, beautiful.  It's perfect."  She sighed in contentment.

"It will soon be finished," he asserted proudly.

She smiled again, but this time the merriment did not completely reach her eyes.  She knew, of course, just by looking out her other balcony that the palace was being completed by slaves.  Most of it was finished–Imhotep had brought her here to live only when the living quarters were completed.  But the slaves still toiled away, building banquet halls and libraries, and who knew what else.  They did not really interest Anck-su-namun.  All of their friends were dead.  Who would they invite for company?

In Ancient times, of course, there were populations of slaves, and so the concept itself did not bother her.  She did not realize that in most countries slavery had been abolished for hundreds of years, and even now all civilized nations and people thought it an abomination, a violation of human rights.  She would not have even understood those arguments.  So the fact that they had slaves did not worry her in the least, and it even made the place feel more like home–the rebirth of Ancient life that Imhotep had promised.

What did bother her, only so slightly, was that it was her and Imhotep who had made them slaves.

In Seti's time people were either born slave or free, and that was their lot in life.  It made Anck-su-namun slightly uneasy that she and Imhotep had forced large numbers of free people into slavery.  That would not have been done in Ancient times, because a population was either slave or free and would remain that way.  Something about it was not quite right about this new situation, but she couldn't exactly put her finger on her objections.  After all, Imhotep would only reply that of course the world had changed, but he was just restoring life as it had been and that the process was completely natural.  Which was right, in a way, and she knew that the economy of Ancient Egypt had been based, on large part, by slave labor.

It was only a tiny, niggling doubt.  But still, it worried her.  It worried her that Imhotep would see forcing people into submission as utterly unimportant.  But it mainly worried her that she would worry about a decision Imhotep had made, questioning his judgement and seeing things differently.  Of course there were slaves, there have always been slaves.  Anck-su-namun forced those unpleasant thoughts from her mind.

But she knew that it was not just that the slaves were there, and highly visible ones at that.  It was that, for all of Imhotep's well meant promises, her life was not like living in Ancient times again.  Everything was different.

Seti built his palace on the edge of Thebes, where he could see the Nile as well as his grandest city.  The palace was always full of people–from the nobles to Med Jai to concubines to servants.  There was always the constant hum of activity, the sounds of people bustling about, carrying out their duties.

But Imhotep's palace was nothing like the old days.

True, it looked the same.  The layout of the rooms was almost exactly the same, although the inscriptions and writings on the walls were slightly different.  And it too overlooked the Nile.  But Imhotep's palace was not in Thebes, but in the desert, not sixty miles from Cairo.  There was no glittering city below her balcony.  And the strangest part was that the palace felt empty.  True, Imhotep's translators and advisors lived here, but they lived in other parts of the palace.  By placing them so far away from her and Imhotep's quarters, Anck-su-namun was sure that he had intended her to stay away from them.  There were a few servants whom she saw regularly, and there were Imhotep's personal guards, who were all mummies.  And of course there was Nefertiri and her son.

But Anck-su-namun could not converse with mummies, and there was no court, no nobility.  There were none who were her equal, and she found herself, apart from Imhotep, very much alone.

She loved him beyond meaning.  But he was often busy, and even those in passionate love desire simple friendship.  So it was the loneliness, loneliness that she hated herself for feeling.  "When will it be enough for you?" she asked herself, seething at her own dissatisfaction.  "He suffers for 3,000 years for your love, brings you back to life, and you are not satisfied?"

But deep down, she was not.  When she was with Imhotep, she was happy beyond belief.  But as soon as he left the room, she felt odd and bored, and quickly isolated and unhappy.

"I must not dwell upon these evil thoughts," she thought to herself.  Imhotep was Ra's messenger on earth, and nothing could happen that was not the will of the Gods.

And she loved him.  She must trust him, give herself up completely.

"And," he continued, "soon they will be able to begin building the temple of Osiris."  A genuine smile of pleasure lit up his handsome features.

He was so sweet and good, really.  No one ever saw that side of him but her.

She smiled back.  "Will it be an exact replica of the old one in Thebes?"

"I will try to make it so as much as possible," he said seriously.  "I am not an architect, and so I can only explain what it looked like to the smallest detail.  But there are many faithful men who, given time, will built what I want."  He sighed.  "I miss having my temple.  It was my sanctuary."

Anck-su-namun squeezed his hand.  "And now you shall have it."

They stood contented, and she leaned up against his broad chest as she stared out onto the Nile.  

She thought back over these last months.  Taking over the world had been surprisingly easy.

Actually, she wasn't that interested in taking over the world.  She just wanted to live with Imhotep in peace and prosperity, in Egypt in a place that felt like home.  And, of course, she wanted revenge.

But getting revenge had not been as fun as she had thought it would be.

The first thing they did, before forcing the world into submission, even before destroying all of the Med Jai villages and enslaving their people, was find Nefertiri.  Anck-su-namun allowed herself to remember...

***7 months earlier***

When she felt ready, Imhotep raised several of his soldier mummies and whisked them all into his sandstorm.  Within minutes they were in London, England. 

She was shocked at how quickly they traveled and also at how different their surroundings were.  It was cold and damp and she shivered under the lights of the street lamps.  They both looked bizarre in their Egyptian style clothing, and although the mummies stood completely still, acting like statues, she felt uneasy and nervous.  She had no idea what the honking noises were or why people were staring at them.

"Imhotep, please," she had whispered.  He understood and immediately, after quickly getting his bearings, wrapped them in the sandstorm again until they were standing in front of what was a huge, forbidding house.

"Imhotep, where are we?" she asked, feeling completely out of her element.

"Inside this house is Nefertiri reborn."  A smirk crossed his face.

It was then that she relaxed.  Although they hardly looked threatening, she had complete faith in his powers.

"Does she know of her past?" Anck-su-namun asked, her blood beginning to boil as she allowed herself to remember her last few days of life.

Imhotep paused.  "Yes.  And so does the husband.  He was her Med Jai."

She spun around to him in surprise.  "She found him in this life, too?"

Imhotep merely nodded.  Anck-su-namun fought tears as she remembered her jealousy.  Nefertiri kept her lover and became Queen of Egypt, while Anck-su-namun was not allowed to even touch the man she loved.  Bitterness filled her vision.

"Now, they will pay."

But Imhotep's hand on her arm restrained her.  "Remember, my love, that you are mortal.  Weapons in these times are different from the ones we knew.  They are quicker and deadlier.  You must allow me to protect you."

She wanted to protest but the warning in his eyes made her pause.  She nodded.

They marched in.

At first it was an unbelievably anticlimactic confrontation.  Ten fearsome mummies, High Priest Imhotep and the Pharaoh's beautiful mistress marched in, and all they met was a small, ten year old boy, reading on the couch.

He looked up, shock filling his features.  And for a second, it was as if Anck-su-namun had been here before, had spoken to and touched this young boy.  But that was impossible, she told herself.  But something about the place was entirely familiar.  It was eerie.

And then all hell broke loose.

"MOM!!!!  DAD!!!!" the child screamed.

Anck-su-namun could not understand English, but she could make out the intent behind those words.

"Restrain him but do not hurt him," Imhotep ordered.  All the mummies began to move.  "One of you!" Imhotep shouted.

A single one stepped forward as the boy jumped out of his seat and began to run for the stairs.  But he was not quick enough.  The mummy clamped his hand down over the boy's mouth and dragged him down the stairs.

The boy's cries were muffled.  The boy.  Alex.

How had she known his name?

But there was no time to think about that, for suddenly Nefertiri and her Med Jai rushed into the room.

It was interesting, Anck-su-namun mused, how this woman was Nefertiri and yet was not Nefertiri.  She held the same bold, royal features.  Yet she was sweeter, softer–her hair was wavy and brown, her body rounder and fuller.

"Imhotep," the Princess exclaimed accusingly, her hand flying to her mouth.  Then her eyes went to her son.  "Alex!" she screamed, this time in pain and worry.  She started to move towards her son, whose mouth still uttered muffled cries, when Imhotep's command silenced her.

"Restrain them.  Hold them down.  Do not kill them."  His voice was cold and hard.

The mummies began to advance toward the couple.  Suddenly the room erupted in gunfire.

The Med Jai had managed to grab a weapon off the table and was now firing at them.  Anck-su-namun did not understand exactly how the weapon worked, but she knew it would be deadly.  She ducked as a mummy exploded right next to her.

The fight raged only a short time.  Two mummies had grabbed Nefertiri and pulled her to the ground.  Imhotep watched amusedly as the bullets ran out, pots breaking and objects falling left and right.  Four mummies jumped the Med Jai, grabbing him, twisting his arms, and tying him securely.

Within minutes it was all over.

Anck-su-namun stepped out from behind the couch and looked at the three prisioners.

"Don't worry Evy," he said, blood pouring from a cut over his right eye.  "We've faced them before."

Before?  The question rang out in Anck-su-namun's mind.  Nefertiri.  Evy.  Alex.  Med Jai.  Evy.  Evy.  O'Connell.  Rick?

Why did she know these people in this life?  She recognized their souls, but why would she know them reborn?

She had no time to ponder those questions.  Everything happened so quickly.  Imhotep stepped forward smugly, his arms around his chest.

He was enjoying this far more than Anck-su-namun was.

"Nefertiri will pay for her actions in condemning me to the Hom Dai.  Your time has come."  But he looked around suspiciously.  "Where is the brother?"

Nefertiri grimaced in pain from her position on the floor.  "Not here."  Imhotep regarded her carefully, then shook his head.  "It is of no importance."

He smiled.  "Welcome once again, to Hamanuptra."  And with another sandstorm, he brought them all back to Egypt.  Except this time the Princess and her Med Jai were in bondage, and Anck-su-namun was free.

***the present***

Remembering brought the old questions to Anck-su-namun's lips, but she was almost afraid to ask.  Why did she know them?  But it was possible that she only knew them because she had known them long ago.  Simply another side effect of being risen from the dead, like a sore throat and weak muscles.  But still, something about it bothered her.

Oh well, it had not ended up mattering.  The world was theirs in a matter of weeks.  The Med Jai was placed among the ordinary slaves, to be separated from his wife and child.  Ignorance of their well-being, coupled with grueling labor, would finish his will power off soon enough.

Anck-su-namun had had more fun with Nefertiri.

The boy was a powerful weapon against his mother, who was forced to obey them.  While Anck-su-namun would never kill an innocent child, she was not above making threats to get what she wanted.  In fact, the time when Alex had–

Imhotep's words broke into her reverie.  "What are you thinking about?

She smiled, shaking off the memories.  "How we captured Nefertiri and the Med Jai."

He smirked.  "That memory gives me pleasure as well."

But the memory, oddly, did not give her as much pleasure as she had hoped.  Maybe part of it was how Nefertiri had changed.  Seeing her in a foreign place, in a modern house wearing modern clothes, with a husband who looked nothing like his Ancient self, with a boy child she had not had in Ancient times–was disconcerting.  It was like taking revenge on someone who no longer existed.  Evy was not Nefertiri, although she shared her memories.  Anck-su-namun even felt slightly guilty sometimes.  While she herself was the same, body and mind, Nefertiri was not.  In this life she had not sinned against them.  And so much of the pleasure at revenge Anck-su-namun should have gotten was denied her.

"I am glad, my love," she said absentmindedly.

"I am going to meet with my advisors.  I will see you in the great hall for dinner."

As he departed she nodded and smiled, but once again lapsed into thought.

***

The people had been tamed rather easily, Imhotep reflected.  He strode down the hallway with even, imposing strides.  All it had taken was a few sand wall tricks to scare most people off.  And many came to him in those hours, pledging life and loyalty and begging to be allowed to serve the Great Pharaoh.  Imhotep could not have been more pleased.  A flicker of a smile crossed his face at the memory.

Most of the countries bowed easily to his whim, knowing that they had not the power to defeat even their neighboring country in battle.  Imhotep's loyal soldiers–mummies and humans alike–quickly removed the leaders of those countries and enslaved them.  Civilians were not hurt, unless they attempted to rebel.  For them, Imhotep showed no mercy.

But he truly did not wish to hurt and kill people.  He did not go after innocent people, break up families, sell slaves at the auction block.  Those ideas filled him with revulsion.  The only slavery allowed were those slaves that belonged to the House of God–the Pharaoh himself.  And the only innocent people he killed were the leaders of countries who he knew would cause him trouble.  Everyone else, including the rulers of small countries who complied with his requests, was enslaved where they were helpless.  If they showed good behavior, Imhotep would free them eventually.  But only after he was sure that he had complete control and loyalty from his men.

Imhotep knew too well the pain of being separated from the person he loved.  As long as people obeyed him, he wanted them to go on living, peacefully and happily.

He stopped briefly in his private rooms to freshen up before meeting with his men.  He splashed water on his face from a bronze basin and dried the water droplets slowly, patting the towel on his skin.  He ran his hand slowly over his shaved head, remembering as clearly as the glittering water in his basin those first few weeks.

He had required all people of the world swear an oath of fealty to him, promising loyalty.  If they broke those vows, they would be enslaved or killed, depending on their offence.  He demanded that people bow, going down on their knees and pressing their foreheads to the floor, when he passed.  And he dismantled all governments, declaring them powerless.  The titles "President" or "Prime Minister" had no meaning now.  There was only one.  Pharaoh.

But Imhotep's cleverest move by far, he recalled with pride, had been to rename the conquered countries and change boundaries and territories.  He combined all the Middle Eastern countries–Pakistan, Saudi Arabia, Afghanistan, Syria, Iraq, Jordan, Iran–and gave them all the name Arabia.  He combined the European nations–France, Germany, Italy, England, Portugal, Spain, Belgium, Holland, Switzerland–and named them Europa.  When he was done, there was only one country left in the world: Egypt.  And there were six major territories, controlled and conquered by Egypt:  Arabia, the Russe, Europa, the Orient, the Americas, and the Southland.  Imhotep named the rest of Africa the Southland in deference to Anck-su-namun, for in Ancient times it was not known what lay down the Nile, what lay in the deserts to the South.

He redrew the map of the world with a sweep of his hand.

In renaming counties, taking away their names and designating them territories, Imhotep stripped the people of the world of national identity.  Without their leaders, and without nationalistic pride, the people of those countries become weak with hopelessness and despair.

But, it was true, that not all people opposed him.  When he executed Stalin in the streets of Moscow, cheering was heard all over the world.  Peasants, bitter and starving from collectivization, happily volunteered for his armies.  To some peasants, isolated from cities, Imhotep was a savior.  He took control of their country but let them live their lives, as Stalin's Communist regime had not done.  The peasants harvested and sold their grain as they always had, uninterested in politics as long as they had bread and a warm roof over their heads.  In a way, the Russe became the territory most loyal to him.

It was the democracies that initially fought him the hardest, where the people were the angriest at his rule.  There was an underground resistance movement, Imhotep knew, and that it was the strongest in the previous United States and in other Western countries.

Those that ended up minding the least were countries that had already had dictators for leaders.  Italians under Mussolini were outraged at Imhotep's rule, but they quickly realized that life was no different under a Pharaoh than under an unconditional military ruler.  Slowly, one by one, people complied, swearing loyalty to the man who now owned the earth.

Imhotep looked quickly into a bronze mirror, studying his reflection.  He was just as fit and trim as ever.  He nodded approvingly, dried his hands on his towel, and briskly opened the door to his chambers.  His guards stood at the doors impassively, both expressionless mummies.  They bowed their heads to him as he passed, resuming their statue-like vigil.  The one good thing about mummies, Imhotep reflected as he walked, was that they did not get tired.

Imhotep had quickly tested and chose men to follow him, opportunistic men hungry for greed and power.  He set strict standards and punished those who did not comply.  But, as he had promised, the rewards were great for those who had proved their loyalty.

Those men who had proved themselves time and time again he made the leaders of the territories.  They were greedy and ambitious for power, and yet mortal, so they had no hope of defeating their Pharaoh.  Imhotep trusted them because they depended on him for their power and would do everything they could to keep the bit of it they had.  He gave them guards and slaves to build palaces and monuments in their honor.  They had power, but only so much as Imhotep allowed them.  They knew that Imhotep could easily find replacements.  So they were territorial governors with vast power on paper, but little in reality.  They had to report everything carefully to Imhotep.

As he walked down the halls, his thoughts switched from the past to the present, the two thoughts that concerned him most springing up, unbidden, in his head.  The first was that he did not know where The Book of the Dead or the key was.  He had The Book of the Living safely in his possession which meant that he was invincible, for no one could read from it to send his soul back to the underworld.  But not having the key meant he could not open the Gold book.  "Why would you want to open it anyway?" he asked himself, shaking his head.  He turned a corner.  Looking down the dark hallway, he snapped his fingers and all of the torches lit up on his command.  Satisfied, he continued his walk, almost at his conference room.

Both books contained unspeakable power, power that, even when wielded by the most able of Priests, was dangerous.  So there was no reason to want to open the Gold book.  But he did want both books in his possession.  Even though the Black book could raise the dead, and could do nothing to hurt him if held by his enemies, he felt uneasy not having it.

For that matter, he wanted the key too.  Even without the key, the possession of those two books would make him secure.  But he knew he would feel better holding the books and the key in his arms.  Sometimes, thinking on how quickly he had taken control, he wondered if his power could be taken away just as quickly.

His second worry was for Anck-su-namun.  Lately his love was more withdrawn.  She seemed to feel lonely and unhappy, and, as a result, was not as spiritually close with him.

He pondered what he could do to make her happier.  He could bring her some handmaidens.  He could buy her some new clothes.

But even he knew deep down that Anck-su-namun wanted more than that.  She wanted companions from her own time, who could speak her language and understand her feelings and emotions.

And Imhotep could not give her that.  At least, not without the Black book.

He growled to himself.  He would send out a secret message to his agents to look for the Book and the key.  No one else must know he was looking for it.  For although there was no open dissent anymore, Imhotep knew how strongly he was resented in some areas of the world.

He stalked towards his meeting room, where his advisors waited.

Ruling the world wasn't supposed to be this much work.

***

A quick author's note:  I know that some of the historical info I give about the 1930s, as well as Ancient times, is exaggerated or false or actually happened later, so don't read this too carefully.  Artistic licence is a happy thing, and so I changed history a bit to make my story work a little better.  Thanks for your understanding ;-) -Marxbros

***


	8. Reconciliation?

**Chapter Eight: Reconciliation?**

***

They were certainly the nicest servants quarters Evy had ever seen. Well, the nicest servants quarters that Nefertiri had ever seen. Evy, in this life, hadn't seen any servants quarters.  In fact, these weren't really the servants quarters at all. There were hardly any servants in the palace. Evy, as one of the few living servants, lived in sumptuously appointed rooms. In the old days, nobility could have lived here. She marveled at the intricate designs on the walls, at the luxurious furniture and golden statues. It was truly beautiful.  But it did not matter where she slept, Evy thought. She was still a servant, a slave to Imhotep and Anck-su-namun's every whim. They forced her to dress as Nefertiri, as she did in Ancient times. She dressed like a Princess but served the woman who had been a concubine to her own  father. She could almost appreciate the irony of it.   Both Imhotep and Anck-su-namun enjoyed it immensely, watching the Princess they had been forced to serve act as a slave, cleaning the rooms and washing clothes. For Imhotep it was the general satisfaction of being Pharaoh, but it was more personal for Anck-su-namun.   Anck-su-namun got special pleasure out of the fact that Nefertiri's and her own positions were now reversed. They had, after all, never been friends.  Although they had tolerated each other, and even had respect for each other, they had never been close.  And towards the end, when Nefertiri had suspected Anck-su-namun was betraying on her father, their relations became almost nasty.   Evy sighed as she wiped a table top clean. It wasn't that the labor was difficult or backbreaking. On the contrary, it really wasn't difficult. What made it so difficult was what her servitude stood for. There was just enough royalty left in Evy to make her cheeks flame in shame and anger at being a slave, when the punishments of others had been so much worse. She found herself thinking indignantly at times, 'I should not be a slave!' But then she was ashamed at her own arrogance. In this life she was no one, and even if, at one point, she had been Nefertiri, she was not the same woman now.   She was not Nefertiri, but she had Nefertiri's memories.  Imhotep had given her her memories back, so every agonizing moment was lived by two women, the woman Evy was and the princess she had been.   Actually, Evy thought, even though for the first few weeks of her confinement both Imhotep and Anck-su-namun had watched and taunted her, at this point both her captors had mostly stopped. Imhotep was very busy and was gone a lot, traveling. Evy did not really know where he went or why, but she certainly knew when he was not in residence to bait her. Anck-su-namun, too, had mostly stopped bothering her, and so Evy had simply gone on with her duties.  Evy supposed that they had both gotten tired of watching her polish plates.

 But in Anck-su-namun's case, Evy supposed that her revenge just was not as fun or satisfying as it was supposed to have been.  Even though she enjoyed seeing Nefertiri as a servant, Anck-su-namun realized that Evy was not Nefertiri.  She understood that Alex was innocent.  Torturing strangers just wasn't as fun as getting revenge on the people you really hated, Evy thought bitterly.  Actually, the only person who was the same as in Ancient times was Imhotep. 

But as frustrating as it was to clean the same rooms over and over, Evy was glad for something to do. It was better than being imprisoned, she reflected.   "Mum, can we stop now? She's down in the gardens and he won't be back for days." Alex's whining, pleading voice broke into her brooding thoughts.  They both knew who "he" and "she" were.   Evy looked out over the balcony and could see Anck-su-namun sitting in the palace gardens by a fountain. She could see her clearly but she was certainly far enough away from the palace not to hear them.  "Alex, we can rest for a moment now."  Evy sunk into a soft armchair, breathing a sigh of relief. Alex smiled and came and sat on the floor by the chair, resting his head on her lap. Alex. Her poor baby.   He was hardly a baby. He would be ten soon, Evy realized.   The one merciful thing Imhotep had done was allow Alex to stay and live with her. If Evy had been stripped of her only child, she did not know what she would have done.   Well, actually, perhaps it wasn't mercy that had prompted them to do that. Anck-su-namun allowed Evy Alex so that she would be submissive. She threatened her with Alex's life if Evy did not comply with their demands. Evy was submissive to save Alex's life.   But, thinking on it, Evy really wasn't worried for Alex's life. First, by harming Alex, Imhotep and Anck-su-namun knew that Evy would stop serving them and stop at nothing to get her revenge—and they did not want that. They wanted her as a docile slave too much.   And second, Evy knew, deep down, that Anck-su-namun wouldn't hurt Alex.   It wasn't that she wouldn't make threats—the former concubine had always been good with weapons and fighting, and she had always been ambitious, tough, conniving, and power hungry.

She had also always been a good actress, training to keep her emotions disguised under a placid surface. But deep down Evy realized, with Nefertiri's memories, that Anck-su-namun was not full of blood lust.  She could be cold and hard and unforgiving, but she was not one who relished killing.  Meela had been the one who was the murderess, who had wanted to burn Evy for pure spite.

Anck-su-namun's motivations were subtler and more understandable, and the distance Evy felt in many ways from her previous life allowed her to understand them without much anger.  Anck-su-namun had killed Nefertiri's father to free herself and get revenge for her imprisonment.  Now, more than anyone, Evy understood the helpless anger than came with belonging to another person.

Not that Anck-su-namun's motivations justified the murder of the Pharaoh, but Evy acknowledged that Anck-su-namun's anger at the conditions of her previous life were understandable, and even felt a little sorry for her.

So Evy was not really afraid that her former teacher would try to hurt Alex.  She would threaten them to get what she wanted, certainly, and she could draw blood when she thought she was morally justified.  But when it came to actually killing an innocent child, she would not go through with it.  There was something about Anck-su-namun that told Evy that she was much more bark than bite.  Her anger, really, was not directed at Anck-su-namun, but at her former self, Meela.  In fact, most of her anger was directed at Imhotep.  Although Anck-su-namun was the love of his life, his Queen, and his heart, she was not his mind.  She did not advise him or have a say in the way he ruled the world.  Everything that had been done this time around had been done by Imhotep.  Evy remembered how when they had come for her and Rick, amidst the screaming and the mummies and the gunfire, Anck-su-namun had just stood there looking a little lost, afraid, and confused.

This, Evy realized, was one great advantage she had: Anck-su-namun did not yet know how she had been reincarnated, or who Meela was, and what had happened her and Imhotep less than a year and a half ago. So over her captor Evelyn O'Connell held a secret, and a potentially most valuable weapon.  At Alex's movement Evy was jerked from her thoughts, and she looked down at the boy hugging her legs.  She was suddenly filled with a breathtaking, intense love, a feeling of relief and joy washing through her body.  She loved her little boy so much.  "How are you feeling, sweetheart?" Evy asked, stroking his soft blond hair.   "I miss daddy," he whispered, shutting his eyes tightly.   Evy's heart tugged and constricted within her chest. Rick. Her own love.

Her husband, the father of her child, the man who had risked his life for her a thousand times.  The man who had urged her to run, to go, to save herself as Ahm Shere crumbled into the desert.  The man who had touched her on her wedding night and told her she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.  The man who had held her as she died. Tears threatened to fill her eyes, but she blinked them back. She had done too much crying.   But the fact was that Evy did not know if her husband was dead or alive.   As soon as they had been taken to Hamanuptra, after being abucted from London, they had been separated. Rick had been dragged off. And she had not seen him since. It had happened so fast, she had had no chance to say goodbye. In a flash, the love of her life had been ripped from her. And neither Imhotep nor Anck-su-namun ever mentioned his name again.   That was what made Evy the most afraid. Rick was a fighter. If he wasn't causing Imhotep trouble, if Imhotep and Anck-su-namun weren't worried about him or afraid he might hurt them–as he had done every time in the past–then he was either entirely defeated or he was dead.   And Evy could not imagine Rick entirely defeated. She chocked back a sob, but Alex could feel the quick convulsion of her small body.   "I miss him too," she whispered, the emotions condensing into a lump in her throat.  Four little words, for all the loneliness and fear and love that Evy felt.

At her words Alex climbed up into her lap, snuggling into her embrace.  "You're getting a bit old to do that, aren't you?" she said, smiling through her tears as Alex made himself comfortable in her lap and put his arms around her neck.   They sat like that for a long time, just holding each other for comfort. The other person was all that they had left.  ***

 "How is your work coming along?" Anck-su-namun asked as she entered the room, leaning up against the frame of the door. Evy looked up from the bed she was standing over, smoothing the soft blankets.  Evy hadn't been expecting this, she hadn't even spoken to the Queen in several weeks.

Evy stood looking in her in vague surprise, and in the quiet that followed the two women silently assessed each other.  Anck-su-namun, Evy admitted to herself, looked gorgeous.  Her skin was smooth and rich and glowing, her dark hair rich and vibrant, cascading down her back and over her shoulders.

For a moment, Evy allowed herself to feel a hint of jealousy over her captor's luscious form and curvaceous body.  She could see why Imhotep would risk the anger of the Gods for the love of this woman.  She was captivating.  Evy found it hard to tear her gaze away from the other woman's dark, enigmatic eyes.

But, Evy thought ruefully, old ways die hard.  Even though she was now Great Wife of the Pharaoh, Mother of the night and of the day, and Queen of the world, the former concubine Anck-su-namun still carried herself and walked with an unmistakable air of confident sexuality.  Her every movements hinted at sensual pleasure–the way she cocked her head, revealing lengths of smooth throat, the way her curved lips parted just slightly, the hand resting low on her hips.  She might not even realize it herself, Evy thought, but Anck-su-namun was still very much a part of the old life she now claimed to reject.

But still, Evy envied her confidence.  While Evy herself had always been slender, she did not have Anck-su-namun's raw, gorgeous sexuality.  She had always been timid, bookish, self-conscious of her body.  There was something empowering about the unhindered, proud sway of Anck-su-namun's form, her comfort with her own body, its movements of unmistakable sensuality.

But suddenly Evy's thoughts returned to herself, and what she must look like.  She was dressed as Nefertiri, in a beautiful gown with gold bangles on her wrists, arms, and ankles.  But her hair was frazzled and unbound, she wore no makeup, her face had new lines from fatigue and from worry.  She must look like a mess, nothing like the immaculate Queen before her.  And, against her own will, a shame rose up in her.

A shame that she, a Princess, should look worse than a low, worthless concubine.

'Stop it!' Evy scolded herself, ashamed at her own thoughts.  Nefertiri's thoughts, springing into her mind unbidden.  In this life she was no Princess.  She was a servant.  And it did not matter how she looked anyway.  But age-old haughtiness and pride remained within Evy, a stubborn reminder of who she had been.

"Everything's fine," she said curtly.

There was again silence in the room.

Evy and Alex were the only people in the world who did not bow to the Pharaoh and his Queen.  There had never been anything spoken between them, no arrangement had been reached.  But there were certain rules between them, born of their relationships from a previous lifetime.  Evy would never bow to them, and they would never ask her.  "And the boy?" she asked, looking pointedly to where Alex was sitting on the floor, not cleaning anything.  Evy sighed, turned and faced the other woman fully. "The work will get done," she said forcefully, looking straight into her gaze.  Anck-su-namun cocked her head slightly, raising one eyebrow.  The silence, more than any words, was a threat.  Alex stood up quickly, brushing dust from his trousers, and walked unsteadily towards the bed to help his mother.

"Well, that is your job now, Princess.  Let's hope it is done to my satisfaction."  Her voice was low and measured, and slightly taunting, but completely without anger.

 Evy stared at her, wanting to give a biting remark, but she realized that the vague threat was a response to her own curt words.  "You never even come in here," she said honestly, her words spoken clearly with no intent to provoke.  Anck-su-namun stared back at her, her face cold and impassive. Both Imhotep and his bride were exceptionally good at hiding their emotions, Evy thought.

But the mask broke and Anck-su-namun sighed.  "I know.  This place is just so big."  She stopped, leaving the remaining words unsaid.  But Evy heard them as if they had been shouted, echoing through the small chamber.  _There is no one to come and live here with me.  This grand Palace is empty.  Imhotep is all I have, but he is often gone for many weeks.  I am isolated.  There is nothing to do here.  All of the people I knew are dead.  You are one of the few people who speak my language.  I am Queen, but there is no joy in my power.  I am just so...alone._

And the look on Anck-su-namun's face filled Evy with pity.  Pity for a woman who, theoretically at least, was her enemy.  For a woman who wanted her humiliated, who had destroyed the world in her search for power.  For a woman who had killed her father.

But the Anck-su-namun who stood before her was not the woman who wanted or had done those things.  She was a lonely woman who wanted someone to connect to.  And was it so irrational that she wanted to connect to Nefertiri, a woman who knew her past, had known her, had known all the people who were important to her? 

This woman loved Imhotep but was completely dominated by him.  She was so lost in the new world that she let Imhotep do whatever he wanted.  She was so lost she would turn to Nefertiri for comfort.  And in the silence Evy heard the unspoken question: _Why were we never friends?_

But maybe it was only Evy herself who was asking it.

"Yes, it is.  Dust gathers much faster in the emptiness," she said.

Anck-su-namun gave her a small, rueful smile.  There was nothing more to say, but still, the Queen lingered in the presence of her servant.  After another quiet moment, she turned to leave.  Just as she was about to disappear into the shadows, she stopped and turned around, speaking the last words and she walked backwards down the dark hallway.

"It is good to see people again.  It almost feels like Ancient times."  And the childish hopefulness in Anck-su-namun's voice for a time long past pained Evy in a way she could not describe.

And then she was gone.  Evy stared after her retreating form, surprised at her tenderness for a woman who she had never especially liked, her mind swarming with suddenly vivid Ancient memories. But the mood was interrupted.  "Gee, mum, what was that about?" Alex asked, wiping his hands on his pants.

Evy smiled tenderly.  "I don't know," she said, bending over and planting a kiss on his forehead. Before their captivity, Alex didn't like his mother to kiss him too much or Rick to ruffle his hair. But now, he didn't mind, and Evy sensed he almost welcomed it.

So Alex wasn't quite old enough to understand the undercurrents of their seemingly simple conversation.  Or maybe it was just that Evy and Anck-su-namun were connected in ways that Alex could not penetrate, connected and bound together by cycles of time and reincarnation and the shared history of a painful past.

She could hear Anck-su-namun's thoughts as though they had been spoken aloud.

'What exactly connects us?' Evy wondered.  She added a hug to her kiss, holding Alex fiercely.  'I am not Nefertiri,' she reminded herself adamantly.  'Whatever tenderness I feel for her, and whatever amount of time has passed, she killed my father.  And she supported the man who took away my husband.  Even if she does not wish to be, she is my enemy.'

And Evy hardened her heart against the Queen, the woman bound to her soul through millennia.

Across the palace, Anck-su-namun stood at her balcony, watching the sun on the horizon.  She stood, staring out into the endless expanses of desert.  'I must not be weak,' she chastised herself.  'Just because I am lonely does not mean I should turn to the woman who would kill me if she could.  Her family and dynasty crushed and ruined my life.  And no matter what she pretends, in her is Nefertiri.'

And the former concubine hardened her heart against her servant, a former Princess of Egypt, as she stood alone on her balcony.

She stood there until the sun was completely gone from the sky.

***


	9. Deadlocked

**Chapter Nine: Deadlocked**

***

Ardeth stood alone, his black robes ruffling slightly in the wind.  Imhotep had now been in control of the world for six months, three weeks, and four days.  Every moment of Imhotep's triumph, every day that passed, was a searing reminder of Ardeth's failure.

He felt so helpless.  He had been raised a warrior, taught to survive on his skills and cunning and physical power.  But here, self-exiled into the desert for fear of the Priest, the lessons Ardeth had been taught gave him no help.   He sat down heavily on the side of a flat boulder, resting his weary back.

There was so much weight on his shoulders, so much responsibility.

This was an entirely new situation, one his people had never faced before.  Through three millennia of guarding the Creature, until Ardeth's generation, no Med Jai had actually had to face Imhotep.  And until seven months ago, no Med Jai had ever had to face an Imhotep with vast power and control.  None of the Ancient knowledge could help them–they were floundering and alone in completely new territory.

Ardeth sighed, running his fingers through his dark, silky hair.  So much had changed since he was a boy.  Growing up, Imhotep had been nothing more than a fearsome legend.  Since he had been made Leader, Ardeth had faced him three times.  Twice, with the help of the O'Connell's, he had won.  Imhotep had been sent back to the underworld.  And the second time, he and his people had defeated the Army of Anubis.  They had faced many trials, but had emerged victorious.

Until now.  Everything had changed.

Ardeth thought wistfully of the days and months after the destruction of Ahm Shere.  His people had rejoiced thinking that Imhotep would never rise again.  There had been days of celebrations–communal feasting and dancing.  The council of elders had commended Ardeth personally, each member hugging him and giving him a garland–an age-old tradition of honor and thanks.

He had even begun to think about starting a family.  He had been thirty-six and a newly honored Leader, established and respected throughout all the twelve tribes.  He had thought that he would settle down soon, marry, have children.  He had grown tired of sleeping alone.

Ardeth did not seek a great, all-consuming love affair.  That was not the ways of his people.  He would seek out a woman with whom he could speak honestly, who he could confide in, who would care for him and bear him strong children.  He wanted a woman who was not afraid of him or his power, who could trust him, who would share with him her thoughts and mind.  A woman who would be a good mother to his children, who could lead the tribe by his side.

Such was the kind of woman Ardeth sought.  The elders had begun encouraging him to seek a wife, and Ardeth had just started speaking to and getting to know the women in his village.  He had just begun seriously contemplating changing his lifestyle forever, sharing his life with another person.  And he thought he might have found that person in Sakina.

But now she was gone from him forever.

Her face appeared, unbidden, in Ardeth's mind, but he pushed it away.  She had been killed in Imhotep's raid on the camp, there was nothing he could have done.  He laughed to himself, mourning her so profoundly, a woman who had not been his wife, or his lover, or even his promised.

Sakina was a young widow, childless and alone at twenty-seven.  She was mature and experienced, something that drew Ardeth to her.  She did not giggle or fawn over him.  She had a serious face, but a rare, slow smile that would spread across her features and blossom, surprising him with its sudden beauty.  She was strong and self-confident and fiercely loyal to her people.

It was strange, what drew her to him, for she was not an ideal choice for a wife.  The elders never said so, but they did not want him to marry a woman so old, a woman who had already been with another man, a woman who had borne no children and therefore might be barren.

Why was Ardeth so distraught at her death, so much more distraught than he was when learning of the deaths of others?  The most he had done with Sakina was converse with her several times in private, and that one last time, kiss her hand.  Yet her face loomed in Ardeth's consciousness.

Had he loved her?  He did not know, but he knew she would make him a good wife.  He had never had a chance to tell her, to let her know that he wanted to marry her.  Ardeth had not realized at the time how much she meant to him.  But then Imhotep had come.  She was dead.  

Ardeth felt an absurd longing, an emptiness, for a woman who he had never even kissed.

He looked up as a shadow fell across his gaze.

"Ardeth," Adil said softly.  "The elders have assembled.  They ask for your presence."

The older man sighed heavily as he got up, glancing once more out into the desert before turning to face the younger man completely.

"Thank you Adil," Ardeth said.  He pushed all thoughts of the past away.  There was no use thinking about her.  He had to concentrate on the present.

He looked carefully at Adil, the young man before him.  Ardeth was beginning to develop a real fondness for this young man, eager and intelligent and absolutely loyal.  His young followers were all that Ardeth had left.  In a rush of emotion, Ardeth clapped him on the back, giving him a rare smile.  "I have truly come to depend on you," he said.

Adil flushed and smiled at the praise.  "I will do anything to overcome the exile and shame that has come on our people."  He paused, looking up into Ardeth's world-weary eyes.  "I would follow you anywhere."

The selfless words of sacrifice warmed Ardeth's heart.  Perhaps he was still a leader.  Perhaps the Med Jai did have a chance against Imhotep.

But the moment passed and the men stepped apart, each slightly embarrassed at the show of emotion, but nonetheless glad it had happened.

"What did the elders say?" Ardeth asked to break the silence.

"Just that it is time for a Council.  They wish to discuss things again and give you advice."

Ardeth laughed humorlessly.  "Give me advice.  Advice on what, I wonder?  We have had no new information since the last council, and yet they wish to talk and talk and talk." Ardeth rubbed his eyes, betraying how little he had slept.  "We need to act, but the Council wishes to wallow forever in indecision."

It was the first time he had admitted his frustration to anyone.

It felt so good to confide in someone, that Ardeth did not stop himself.  "I am afraid that the longer we wait, the more damage the people of the world suffer.  We have bided our time, but at some point we must act, we must strike as the cobra kills its prey–soundlessly and suddenly.  All of this talk–" he broke off, realizing he had said too much.  He did not wish to burden Adil with all of his confused thoughts.

"I respect the elders, and I do not want to defy their wishes.  But at some point–" Ardeth hesitated again.  "We have already exchanged many angry words," he admitted to Adil.

The young man laughed, a welcome sound.  "The Council is known for its stubborn and obstinate old men," Adil said with a grin.

Ardeth laughed too, a rich, deep sound that resonated between them.  It was a sound that, even to his own ears, reminded him painfully of the past and of easier times.

But Adil quickly became more serious.  "Of course no one wants to defy them.  But if you commanded us, sir, we would all march out tomorrow.  The elders are not warriors.  They may be wise, but they do not fight on the battlefields.  It is you we would follow."

Ardeth could not respond, for a lump had filled his throat, a lump of gladness and pent up emotion.  His people would die for their cause, and they would follow him to their destinies.  His eyes glistened at their unquestioning and brave loyalty.

"It means much to me to hear you say those words, Adil," Ardeth said huskily.

Adil smiled, the genuine smile of a boy as he looks upon his hero.  "My father spoke often of you.  You became Leader when I was only nine, but always my father believed in you.  When he would have to leave us, and my mother would cry, he would say, 'do not fear, my wife, for I follow a man of character and integrity, who follows the noble ways of our ancestors.'"

Ardeth swallowed hard, and put an arm around the younger man's shoulders.  "Your father was a strong and good warrior.  I was always glad to have him fight by my side."

The two men embraced, and for Ardeth it was as if a dam had broken.  "Thank you for your loyalty, my brother," he said.

At that moment Hamir, one of the scouts, appeared, winded slightly from running up the mountain path.  "Sir–oh, excuse me," he said awkwardly.

Ardeth and Adil parted, smiling, and Ardeth laughed at Hamir's discomfort.  "Yes?" he asked, smiling.

"The elders sent me to find out where you went," Hamir admitted, grinning sheepishly.

"And I am coming right now," he replied, beginning to make his way down the path.  They walked in silence for several moments, until they reached one of the large tents.  Adil and Hamir bowed their heads slightly to leave, but Ardeth turned.

"Adil, stay.  I wish your presence in this meeting."  Surprise and awe filled the young man's face, but he quickly mastered it and came to stand beside Ardeth outside the entrance to the tent.

"As you wish, sir.  Any way I can offer my assistance."

"You are young and brave, and will soon be a leader among us.  You should know the ways of the Council."  And with those words, Ardeth stepped inside.

***

"Our options, Rashid, are extraordinarily limited," Ardeth said, pacing across the room as he spoke.  

The meeting was in full force in the small, dark tent.  At a table sat seven elderly and revered members of the tribe, who watched Ardeth move with strong, athletic movements.  Adil stood silently in a corner, watching, his eyes wide, drinking in everything he saw.

Ardeth continued, gesticulating forcefully as he spoke.  "We cannot hope to defeat Imhotep in a battle.  That is madness.  What we do have the ability to accomplish is a quick strike at his very heart."  Med Jai warriors were known for their stealth as well as skill and knowledge, and it was their expertise with clandestine behavior that was, in this case, Ardeth believed, absolutely essential to victory.

"Ardeth, we must not take unnecessary risks," a council-member broke in.  "This strike that you speak of would be almost impossible to accomplish without heavy casualties on our side."  Sharma was the one who spoke, an old woman in her late sixties.  She was still sharp as a pin, extremely intelligent and wise.  She was calm and measured in all of her responses, and her careful reasoning and rationality was slowly driving Ardeth crazy.

He wrung his hands in frustration.  "Have we not already suffered heavy casualties?" he asked the elders, searching their faces for a response to his statement of devastating fact.  "We have sworn oaths to kill the creature.  If all we do is sit here, talking and talking about what to do while the world is destroyed, then I would not hesitate to call us oath-breakers, guilty of the worst kind of treason."  

There was gasping and grumbling among the elders at his brash statement, but Ardeth continued unfazed, speaking determinedly.  "We must not be afraid of death."

Sharma shook her head.  "That does not mean that we search for it, young Leader.  If a Med Jai gives his life it is for the cause of our ancestors.  No Med Jai should give his life for a hopeless mission," she continued, speaking in a voice strong for an old woman.

"But this would not be a hopeless mission," Ardeth replied, running his fingers through his hair.  "We have many reasons to think it will be successful."  He turned and began pacing again, thinking aloud as he walked.

 "What have we learned from the past in dealing with the Creature?  We must use what we know of his past.  He is strong, he has immense powers, he can not be killed by mortal weapons.  He does not need food or sleep.  But what are his weaknesses?  What about him can we exploit?"  Ardeth paused, his gaze searching the faces of the elders for answers.

When his question drew no response, Ardeth pressed his point.  "The first time Imhotep was resurrected, we reached Hamanuptra in time to stop the ritual, save Evelyn O'Connell, and kill the Creature.  What allowed us that time?"

"His desire to resurrect The Woman," Rashid, a venerated elder, said reluctantly.

"Yes," Ardeth exclaimed triumphantly.  "Anck-su-namun.  She is his weakness."

"So how are you suggesting we exploit that, Ardeth Bay?" Omar, another elder, asked, his clever eyes missing nothing as he examined his Leader's tired and determined face.

"We are lucky.  While Imhotep is immortal, with insurmountable powers, his Queen is not.  She is mortal, flesh and blood like any one of us."  Ardeth stopped in front of the table, facing the elders as he spoke.  "She is vulnerable."

"What are you suggesting?" Sharma asked, beginning to lose her patience.

"If Anck-su-namun dies, Imhotep will have nothing." Ardeth began pacing again in frustration.  "Do you not see?  The Creature rules the world so that the concubine can be Queen by his side.  Less than two years ago he risked facing the Scorpion King without his powers, sure death, because she was ambitious for power."

"And how do you propose we kill her?  We just saunter up to the palace, climb over the wall, and dance into her bedroom?" Rashid snapped, his patience gone.  "Nothing you suggest is easily done, Bay."

Ardeth rubbed his beard as he spoke, deep in thought.  "We sneak into the palace one of the nights Imhotep is traveling around the world.  Without him there, his Queen is highly unprotected.  Imhotep does not think we exist.  He fears for nothing.  The security at his palace is weak.  Our scouts now know where she lives and sleeps and where she can be found."  Ardeth wrung his hands, the words tripping out of his mouth in his eagerness to have his ideas known.  "We have many highly skilled and trained assassins.  At her death, Imhotep will lose all desire to live.  He will give up, have no craving for world domination.  Without his love to share it with, power will become meaningless to him.  He will give up, like he did when Meela ran from Ahm Shere to save herself.  We will have struck him where he is most vulnerable."

"Or," Rashid suggested, standing up from his seat in anger, "Imhotep will become furious and vengeful at the death of his beloved, and for revenge will not only kill us, but all of mankind, destroying the whole world."

"I do not think–" Ardeth began, but Rashid's anger interrupted him.

"Imhotep is unpredictable.  How do we know he will simply lie down and give up when Anck-su-namun dies?  He could do any number of destructive things.  I would not underestimate him, Warrior."  And there was derision in his tone.

"Underestimate him?  At least I have some experience in which to base my ideas!" Ardeth flared, glaring at the elder.  "I have faced him before, Rashid.  I have held a dying man, his tongue and eyes ripped out by Imhotep's hands.  I have stood on a dirigible as the Creature's wall of water attacked us, his watery face grinning as he came.  I killed Loch-nah, the Betrayer and Imhotep's minion, in the jungles of Ahm Shere.  Do not tell me what Imhotep is like, and warn me about his power!"

"I appreciate your past experience, Bay," Rashid said fiercely, "but the Imhotep in power now is different from the Creature you knew.  He has full control of his powers, and you are without the American Med Jai and his family.  Times have changed, situations are different."

"So what do you propose, Rashid?  We sit and talk and do nothing forever?"  Ardeth's voice rose in anger.  The conversation was quickly getting out of control.  Ardeth sensed this, but was too worked up to stop himself.

"We wait, we bide our time, we gather more information–"

"No," Ardeth proclaimed heatedly.  "The time for that is over."

"Ardeth Bay, you cannot wish to march our sons and grandsons into battle, exposing them to the worst kind of danger, without being sure of the payoff.  And even if you succeed in assassinating the Queen, you could simply set off a ticking bomb." Omar's voice was calm and soothing, but Ardeth was too angry to be soothed.  "We are not yet strong enough to launch an offensive.  You must be prudent.  We must act with wisdom.  There are other roads we can take."

Ardeth shook his head in fury, speechless in his helplessness and his desire for retribution.

In the furious silence, it was Omar, looking carefully at Ardeth's ravaged face, who spoke.  The question was asked delicately, softly, and with a slight hint of reproach.  But there was also tenderness and a fondness for the young man in his words.

"Why are you so dedicated to the plan, my son?"  And under Omar's concerned gaze, Ardeth was jolted from his anger, and it began to melt away.  Perhaps he was being a bit brash and assuming in his tone.  After all, the elders, although not warriors, were still Med Jai and dedicated to the same cause he was.  He should be more patient with them.  They were on his side.

He took a deep breath and allowed his taut muscles to relax.  For a few moments he allowed himself to truly examine his own emotions.

He honestly believed that they had few options and that his plan was one of the best that they could attempt at this point.  Knowing what Imhotep had done when his love had left him at Ahm Shere–give up and throw himself into the underworld–made the plan's success a definite possibility.  

And Ardeth was a warrior, a leader of men, a commander in battle.  He would never risk the lives of his people if he did not believe that they had advantages in strategy, tactics, and battle position.  

But, he admitted to himself, there was another, secret reason.

Sakina.

Deep down, Ardeth wanted Imhotep to suffer as he himself was suffering.  Unknowingly the Creature had murdered his love.  The Med Jai leader admitted to himself that he wanted to return the favor.

Ardeth hated Imhotep for the ancient reasons–the betrayal, the murder of the Pharaoh, the disrespect of the old Gods.  But he hated Imhotep for new, intensely personal reasons.  And Ardeth's desire for vengeance, for age-old deeds and new ones, was now manifesting itself as a desire to hurt the Priest in the same way that he himself was hurting.  He wanted revenge.

But Ardeth was no longer young and naive.  He was almost thirty-eight, he was leader of the twelve Med Jai tribes decimated by Imhotep's assault.  The fate of the world, he believed, rested on his shoulders.  He cleared his mind.  He would not let desire for personal revenge result in impaired judgement and the unnecessary deaths of Med Jai.  In that moment, Ardeth asked his soul–his experience, his intelligence, his ancestral knowledge–if he truly believed that the plan was good.

And his soul answered yes.

"Because it is the best one available, Omar.  What other options do we have?" Ardeth asked, looking into the older man's face with a quiet, assured certainty.

But in his voice there was also a intimate anger, anger for his own weakness.  He could never allow his memory of a woman–a woman who probably never even loved him–to cloud his vision.  He pushed her face from his mind.  "You tell me.  What are your suggestions?  How do you think we should beat Imhotep?"

Ardeth turned away and began pacing again.  "Your grand plan is to do nothing, to risk nothing.  We are Med Jai," he said expressively, opening his arms and making a sweeping gesture around the room.  He hesitated.  "We are Med Jai," he repeated, pride in their identity, in their ancestors, in who they were, flooding his limbs.  He looked around at the elders, trying to imbue in them the same pride he felt.  When he continued, his voice was softer, more under control, but no less firm.  "We all agree that Imhotep must have the books and the key.  That means that we are powerless.  We have none of the Ancient tools for defeating him.  Therefore we must take our chances.  Anck-su-namun must die.  There is no other way."

A heavy silence filled the room that lasted for several long moments.

"What if," Adil suggested hesitantly from the corner, shattering the quiet, "the Creature does not have the books?  How can we be sure that he does?"

For a moment no one spoke, all their minds heavy with what the future could bring.  Rashid looked up in surprise at Adil's words, surprised that he would dare speak in a council meeting.

"We must assume the worst," Ardeth replied dismissively.  "Besides, who else could have them?"

"But if he doesn't, shouldn't we be looking for them?" Adil pressed.

"And how do you suggest that we look for them?" Rashid spoke up bitterly.  "Most of our people are dead or scattered.  We are isolated in the desert.  We have no one we can trust outside the tribe.  We have never had need for outside contacts." The older man sighed heavily in resignation.  "There is no way we could discover where the books were, even supposing that Imhotep did not have them."

The other elders nodded at Rashid's words, and there was a low murmuring of agreement.  "Even if we suspected that Imhotep did not have the books, it would be extremely unwise and difficult for us to even try to locate them," Sharma continued softly, sympathizing with Adil's youthful idealism.  "Only some of the elders and Ardeth can speak English or any other language besides Arabic.  We have no disguises, no western clothes.  And we certainly have no money.  We are a desert people."  She paused.  "There is no way that we could look for them without giving ourselves away."  

"But if Imhotep doesn't have the books–" Adil began, but Rashid interrupted.

"If Imhotep does not have the books then he is surely looking for them and doing everything in his power to find them.  Should a few of our warriors traipse off to Cairo?"  He laughed humorlessly, gesturing mockingly with his hands.  "We have obvious tattoos on our faces that can be recognized from a mile off.  The moment one of us shows our face in any major world city, within 12 hours Imhotep will know that there are remaining Med Jai.  He will gather his forces and search the desert.  He will hunt us down and kill us.  And this time he will be thorough."  

Silence filled the room.  The Med Jai burden, the burden of millennia, fell heavily on their shoulders.

"You did have western contacts.  The O'Connell's."  Adil looked into Ardeth's eyes.

Ardeth laughed bitterly.  "Yes, we did.  Once."

The warriors stood, wordlessly, in the heavy silence of the room.

"We will convene again tomorrow," Sharma finally said exhaustedly, wiping her eyes with wrinkled hands.  "There is much anger in the room.  No decision can be made when we are subject to our own intense emotions.  Tomorrow, tomorrow we will discuss this again."  She stood, looking directly at Ardeth.  "And, Ardeth Bay, if you wish for us to seriously consider your ideas, I would go over every step and detail of your plan.  This sort of undertaking is not to be begun lightly."

And the council of fearsome Med Jai, warriors trained in the deadly arts, elders cunning and clever with Ancient knowledge, stood in silence, dead-locked in fury and helplessness.

***


	10. Discovery

**Chapter Ten: Discovery**

***

Jonathan sat in the armchair in his small room, a small corner room on the second floor of the brownstone many resistors called home.  It was quiet, and he liked to sit in solitude by the window.

If he closed his eyes, and let the soft breeze float in, and the quiet sunlight caress his face, he could almost imagine that he was home.  That he was sitting in the living room of the English manor, in his father's red velvet armchair, by the window that looked out over the small garden.  That in the distance he could hear Evy in the kitchen, that he could faintly hear the sounds of Alex and Rick teasing each other, that all around him were the sounds of the normal life he had lost.

If he sat there long enough, memories would come back to him, more vivid then ever.  Evy's laughing face, Rick's mock anger, Alex's joy at discovery.  He could relive moments–like the time Evy found out that Jonathan had passed all of his exams.  She had such shock, such exuberance and joy for him on her features.  All for the brother she loved.

He remembered with perfect clarity what she had said to him, her small arms wrapped around his neck.  "Jon, I'm so proud of you," she had whispered into his ear.

He had never felt that good, not even when he had learned that he had passed all of his exams.  Her happiness for him was all that he needed.

He wanted so desperately to make her proud of him again.  But as they grew up, at each step he was a disappointment: he drank too much, he gambled more than he should, he sometimes kept the truth from her.  He never doubted her love for him.  But he loved her so much and wanted to care for her so badly, he never wanted to hurt her or disappoint her.  She was his little baby sister, the rock in his life who gave him reason to live.

And because of her he had gained a true friend, Rick, and a wonderful nephew, Alex.  She broadened and enlivened his life.  Was there any way he could repay, and save her?

He ached to do something, but he was afraid that he would be helpless forever.  That he would devote his life to fighting a pointless cause, that he would never see Evy or her family again.  That her absence would take all meaning from his life.

His thoughts drifted to Imhotep and Anck-su-namun, the real causes of all his misery.  He was so conflicted about them.  At times he would fall into a mindless, terrible rage, screaming and wanting to hurl things about, wishing for nothing more than base vengeance.

And then there were the times when he was reflective and quiet and he could almost sympathize with them.  More than most, Jonathan knew the strength of the bonds of love, and understood how much one would sacrifice for the one they loved.  He would throw himself in front of a thousand bullets to save Evy's life.

While Jonathan wished he could condemn and hate Imhotep and Anck-su-namun, they had done what he might have done.  They had killed to be free and to be together.  Jon had shot and killed men who had threatened his family in the jungles of Ahm Shere.  Maybe they were not so different, after all.

He was so absorbed that he did not hear his door open softly.

"We have found one of your books."

Jacques voice broke into Jonathan's thoughts.

Startled out of his reverie, Jonathan sat up abruptly, his eyes flying open and coming to rest on Jacques face. "What?" he gasped.

The words were a catalyst to his lethargic system, and his body moved excitedly, as if of its own free will, to the edge of his chair.  Did he just hear what he thought he heard?  Was he delirious?

Jacques, nodded, his face serious.  A small smile of irony tugged at his lips.  "You'll never guess where."

Jonathan was too stunned to think coherently.  He slowly rose from the chair in the beginnings of excitement.  "We've found it?"

The older man smiled fully at Jonathan's shock.  "Yes."  He walked over and clapped Jon on the back.  "Shanghai.  And it seems that you were right all along."

Jonathan could only gape at him.  "I was right?"

Jacques laughed, the hope and joy from their discovery finally showing on his face.  "Yes.  I've got the telegram right here."

Jonathan stared at him, delight blossoming on his face.  "Shanghai?"

Jacques nodded, a grin spreading across his usually somber features.  "Wanna take a trip to China?"

With that Jonathan jumped in the air and screamed with joy, a cross between a shriek of disbelief and a yelp of excitement escaping his lips.  He began to dance around the room, tripping over his own feet as he moved, shouting meaningless phrases of happiness.  He grabbed Jacques and gave him a big hug, surprising the other man with a show of affection.  Then Jonathan put his arm on Jacques waist and started to ballroom dance with him across the small bedroom, the two large men stumbling and singing resistance songs in their exuberance.

With a final cry, Jonathan collapsed again into the armchair, the grin plastered onto his face, a grin from the old Jonathan.  "You have to tell me everything!" he exclaimed, moving again to the edge of the seat to listen to Jacques.  "Which book did they find?"

The older man wiped his forehead, shiny from their athletic exertions.  "The black book, the Book of the Dead."  Still smiling, but becoming more serious, he seated himself across from Jonathan to tell the story from the beginning.

"As you know, we alerted all of our contacts, other cells in the movement, around the globe of the importance of both books.  We included your descriptions of both–the gold and black covers, the inscriptions.  We left the descriptions slightly vague, of course, so we could tell if certain responses to our plea were traps set by Imhotep or his sympathizers."

Jonathan nodded, the early exuberance fading slightly to give way to thoughts of the future–the difficult trip to Shanghai, the near impossibility of gaining the book and getting it to the Med Jai while remaining undetected by Imhotep.  He shook those thoughts from his mind as he listened to Jacques recount his story.

"One of our contacts in the Orient just replied this morning.  As you know, my brother works in the telegram office on Michel street.  All messages are screened by Imhotep's guards, but he managed to hide this one away."  Jacques took a deep breath before continuing.

"According to the note, the black book was discovered in an antique shop in Shanghai.  We do not know the names of most of our Eastern accomplices, but they sent a coded telegram matching your exact description.  What clinched our trust in them was the description of its weight.  The note describes the book as being supremely heavy and made of obsidian.  You told me that–but we did not include that detail."  He paused, to give more weight to his words.  "We think we can trust them."

Jonathan nodded, and the two men sat in silence for a moment, a stark contrast to the loud noises of triumph that had filled the room moments before.

"Let me see it," Jonathan asked, and held his hand out for the ordinary, marvelous slip of white paper.

He read the telegram carefully, several times.  "It sounds like the book I know," he said softly, with a hint of bitterness as old memories resurfaced.  He handed the note back.

"They describ it perfectly, Jon," Jacques said, looking over the few black lines again, in his voice a mix of disbelief and awe.  "The scarab beetle on the cover, the five pronged star…it's all there."

Jonathan smiled humorlessly.  "That cursed image is burned into my memory.  There is no way I would ever forget it."

"How it got to Shanghai, we will never know," Jacques continued unthinkingly, re-reading again the slip of hope they held in their hands.  "According to your stories, it should have been in Egypt, buried in the deserts of Ahm Shere."

Jonathan turned his face slightly away, considering the implications of Jacques careless statement.  How had the book gotten to Shanghai?  He suspected that he, nor anyone else, would ever know.  How does a book supposedly buried in the middle of the Egyptian desert, a book as powerful as The Book of the Dead, end up in Shanghai, half a world away from the ruler of the world and from the men fighting him?  

An ironic, flicker of a smile crossed Jonathan's face.  What games the Gods play!

"The book was handed over to Pierre, one of our agents in China and an old friend of mine from the service." Jacques continued.

Jonathan looked up at Jacques hesitantly, and the Frenchman answered his unspoken fear.

"He can be trusted."

Jonathan nodded, an uneasy sigh escaping him.  If anything else, if he could trust anyone, it would be Jacques.

Jonathan had not had this much hope in a long time.  The possibility that the book existed, and was in the hands of people they could trust, gave him a new hope that he desperately clung to.  He began to excitedly make plans.  "We must go and get the book, and then go to the Med Jai." 

Jacques nodded noncommittally, pausing as he considered the other man's words.

Jonathan saw Jacques hesitation.  "Imhotep's powers are not of this world," he insisted.  "The Med Jai know the ancient secrets.  Without them, we are nothing."

Jacques looked at him carefully.  "You are sure these desert warriors can be trusted, and will not use the book for their own purposes?"

Jonathan stood adamantly.  "They can be trusted.  I fought with them twice on the side of good.  You know that."  He paused.  "Their purposes are our own purposes."

Jacques nodded firmly and stood also.  "I will trust you and them as well."  He reached out his hand, and Jonathan took it.  They shook hands, gripping each other and one grips the lifeboat that promises safety.

As their hands parted, Jacques hesitated slightly before speaking.  "You know that there is still the possibility that this a trap."

Jonathan paused.  He had been a coward his whole life.  He had run from everything–Pygmy mummies, police officers, even Evy sometimes.  But this was when it really mattered.  "I know," he said softly.  He looked into Jacques eyes.  "This is something I have to do, something I have to try to set right."

Jacques nodded, perhaps understanding just how personal this journey was to Jonathan.  "May God be with you, my friend."

Jon nodded seriously, then laughed as he thought of himself as the hero, the Rick O'Connell.  "I've never had to save the world alone before."  And in his words there was self-mockery, and doubt, and utter fear.

But there was also iron resolve.

***


	11. Anjelica

**Chapter Eleven: Anjelica**

***

Rick sighed in relief as the bells that signaled the end of the workday clanged.  He abruptly dropped the chisel he was holding and turned away from his task, leaving the tool laying on the dusty ground.  He groaned as he stretched his aching muscles, rolling his exhausted neck and shoulders.

His body was getting used to the labor, and, he admitted reluctantly, so had he.  The work had become a way to work out his aggression and anger, and as time passed he found his rage and helplessness receding.

Even the mummy guards had gotten tired of bullying him, it seemed.  While they would occasionally sneer at him, it seemed that, ironically, they were just as bored watching the slaves work as the slaves were working.  It was a small relief, at least, Rick thought.

Rubbing his sore neck he walked steadily towards the long food line already forming, each hungry man waiting anxiously for the stew and bread that would fill his empty stomach.

When he had first been made a slave, he had lost hope, angry and bitter in his own personal misery.  But slowly he had begun to come away from that mindset.  As terrible as times were now, they would get better.  Times had looked bad in the past, and they had always come out of them together and healthy.  He had defeated Imhotep before.  Rick knew that if he waited, if he bided his time, helpless as he was, a time would come when he could strike back at the man who had caused him so much agony.

As he waited in line, used to the long periods at dusk while awaiting his evening meal, his eyes roamed over the women who were serving the food.  There were at least a hundred of them to serve all of the laborers, set up at different points with steaming stew in huge pots.  These women–the ones who cooked and served the breakfast, lunch, and dinner, who cleaned the barracks they lived in–were the women who had fought against Imhotep in the great, final battle at Mount Blanc.

Rick of course had not been there, but locked up in a shack for four months while Imhotep conquered the world.  Not that Rick's presence would have made much of a difference.  And so many people died such horrible pointless deaths that Rick was almost secretly glad he had not been there.  He had enough nightmares to haunt his dreams.

He purposely waited in line #4, because that was where Anjelica always worked.

Initially he had had no idea who she was except that he always got a complete helping and a larger slice of bread when she served him.  No one else seemed to notice, and Rick was glad.  But he was intrigued by this woman, who never said anything to him but knew who he was and wanted, in her small way, to help him.

One of the many nights he had lined up for his food with everyone else, and she gave him his usual large helping, he leaned forward and met her eyes.  "Thank you," was all he said.

Her eyes had widened and she had nodded brusquely, but between them a kind of connection had been formed.  It was such a relief; he had been desperate for any kind of human connection.  The captured Med Jai would not look him in the face, and most of the other prisoners knew who he was and stayed away from him.  Their emotions towards him were a mixture of awe, admiration, and fear.  But she, the woman who he came to know as Anjelica, a Mexican military strategist who had commanded her own military unit and fought against Imhotep in the great and final battle, became his companion.

At dinner time he would always count on a warm smile from her as she handed him his bowl.  Those few moments of kindness each day were, along with his memories of Evy and Alex, enough to sustain Rick.

One night, long after the meals had been served and the exhausted men lay around outside under the glittering Egyptian sky, she had come to him.  It was extremely rare for a women to be there, especially at that time of night, for the women were separated from the men and encouraged not to associate with them.  The female slaves had legitimate fears of harassment or rape if they ventured into the male part of the camp alone.  But she strode firmly and surely toward where Rick was lying next to a blazing fire, her determined face–and the surprise at seeing her–enough to keep any men from bothering her.

When she got to Rick, she sat down on the sandy ground and stuck out her hand.  "Anjelica," she said, not offering anything else–no last name, no reasons, no explanations.

When Rick has expressed his surprise, and admiration, for her bold move through the men's area, she had laughed.  "Mortal men don't scare me," she explained.

They talked long into that night, about everything and nothing.  She was in her late thirties, like Rick, but had no family or children.  The military had been her life.  She would have been pretty, Rick thought, but slavery and loss of hope had crushed the youthful aspect of her eyes, flattened her dark, long hair.  But it was her mind that drew Rick to her, her intelligence, her shrewdness, her uncanny way of voicing exactly what he was thinking or feeling.

It had felt so good to talk to someone, to just express what he was feeling.  It was a huge relief to his soul.

After that first night she was able to visit him about once a week, whenever she did not have duties or menial chores.  It pained Rick's heart to see such talent, such great people humbled by slavery.

By then, the other men knew that she was a friend of Rick's, and out of deference to him they left her alone.  They did not want to mess with Rick O'Connell, a legend, a myth of heroism.

As Rick ate his stew in the falling twilight, he remembered how their relationship had begun and smiled.  It had come to mean so much to him.  He realized that she had became his closest friend, sharing his heart in those dark hours after midnight, when they would sit by the crackling fire.

For a short time, they could even forget that they were slaves.

He had told her all about his childhood, about growing up in an orphanage in Cairo, about joining the French foreign legion.  She had told him about growing up in Mexico, about her father the General, about being sent to England for schooling at sixteen.

And then, he had begun to tell her about meeting Evy, about fighting Imhotep, about having a child.  She loved to hear him tell those stories, for she had no children and no family now that her father was dead.  He had explained how much they meant to him, how life would not be worth living if they were taken from him.  Then he had told her about the second time Imhotep arose, about the kidnaping of his son, about holding his wife in his arms as she died.

Remembering Evy, her sweet, honest face, her love for him, made Rick weak inside. He missed her so much.  He would spend nights lying awake so as not to dream, just picturing her face.  She was everything to him.

But to speak about them, to share those memories, helped Rick deal with his emotions.  And to listen to Anjelica talk about her own emotions helped Rick to realize the scope of Imhotep's rule.  Everyone was grieving.  Tragedy was everywhere.

And later, she told him about losing her mother to cancer, about joining the military to please her father, about her lover in England.  Rick's heart broke as she told how they had fallen in love, even though he was married and older.  They continued their affair for over fifteen years.  She explained how, after her father died when she was 26, she almost never went home to Mexico but on her leaves of absences went to England.  But tears came to her eyes when she thought of where he was now.   "I haven't seen him since the day I left to fight the Priest.  I do not know if he is dead or alive."  And Rick could share her pain.

For what does one do when everything has been taken away?

She laughed when he told her about Alex's birth and the antics of Jonathan.  She listened breathlessly when he told of the ancient cycle, of who they had all been in the past.  He explained about the Med Jai and Ardeth, about his former life as a warrior for God, about his wife the Princess Nefertiri.

And she would listen silently when he talked about Evy.  About how a smile from her could make his day.  About how he feared that she might be dead or that Imhotep might hurt her.  About his feelings of rage and helplessness.  And she could share his pain.

That night, long after the meal was finished and Rick lay under the stars, he felt her presence near him.  He looked up into her eyes as she sat down, and they were fierce and ignited.

"What's wrong?" he asked, touching her shoulder lightly.  But she was caught up in memories.

"It's all coming back to me," she whispered.  "I keep reliving them, over and over, nightmares when I wake."

"Tell me," Rick urged.  "Share your burden."

She shook her head, covering her face in her hands.  "I hate to give you some of my burden, you who are bearing so much."

He put his arm around her.  "You have shared much of my burden.  Tell me."

She took a deep, shuddering breath.  "You know I fought and was captured at the battle of Mount Blanc."

He nodded his assent.

"We were pinned down for hours in the mountains," she remembered, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.  "Hour after hour we tried to keep him back, hold him off.  But he was relentless."

Her voice changed, encompassing a kind of awe.  "I have never seen anything like it.  The Priest tossed human beings like pebbles.  He crushed tanks, with our men inside them, like they were cardboard boxes."  Her head shook with disbelief as a tear slipped down her cheek, the first time Rick had seen her truly cry.  "It was unbelievable.

"At one point he stepped into my line of fire between two boulders.  I had a clear shot of him.  We had led him into an impasse in the mountains, hoping to surround him.  We didn't know then, of his powers."  She paused, swallowing hard.  "I took a shot with my bazooka.  This flaming, high-speed missile headed right for him.  It was a perfect shot."

She stopped and gave a short, hard laugh.

"What happened?" Rick asked, squeezing her hand.

"I watched the whole scene as if it were in slow motion.  The missile sailed cleanly through the air, rotating slowly, heading straight for Imhotep.  I remember thinking, 'this is it.  I've got the bastard.  It's all over.'  How naive I was."

She sighed and looked down, rubbing her calloused hands together.  "I keep seeing this scene over and over.  It replays in my mind like a movie clip I cannot stop.  I see it when I am cleaning, when I look into the bubbling soup, when I try to sleep at night."  She paused, looking down, fear and pain in her voice.  "It will not let me be."

Rick held her as she rocked in her own private pain, held her until she could continue.

"The rocket sliced through the air.  This beautiful, silver rocket, gleaming in the sun."  She wiped a tear from her eye.  "You know that bazookas are anti-tank weapons.  They're made to smash through thick metal, to crush and destroy what is made of steel."  She shook her head as if to clear away the past.

"The Priest turned, and watched it coming.  He stood, watching this bomb come sailing through the air aimed for his heart.  At the last moment, when it was only a few meters away, he put up his hand.  Just a gesture, a hand movement.  But the missile stopped in mid air.  It stopped short.  It went from traveling at 150 miles an hour to 0 in a quarter of a second.  That practically defied the laws of physics.  That is magic beyond what I can even comprehend."

Rick nodded, looking into her eyes.  There was nothing he could say, all he could offer her was his silent comfort.

"It seems silly, now that we know of his powers, to be surprised that he could control and manipulate flying objects.  But we had been pinned down in the mountains.  We had not seen the terror that he had wreaked on our comrades above and below and before us.  Seeing him do that ended it for me.  I knew we were going to lose.  There was no way we could defeat someone like that."  She paused, blinking back tears.

"I haven't talked about this since it happened."  She looked up into Rick's eyes.  "I ordered my artillery unit to surrender.  And so here we are now."

Rick reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze.  "You were very brave.  You made a decision that saved the lives of your unit.  That is what a commander is for."

She shook her head, her dirty brown hair falling from her bun and hiding her eyes.  "I could have let them die honorable deaths, fighting for their country, for this world that they believed in.  Instead I turned us all into cowards."

Rick shook his head adamantly.  "An old friend once said to me, 'live today, fight tomorrow.'  You survived.  When the next battle comes, you will be ready for it."

She shook her head slowly, and beneath her tough military exterior Rick could see a woman.  An ordinary woman who was brave and intelligent but also full of shame and regret and inner turmoil.  Her eyes met his.

"You truly believe that there will be another battle?  After all you have been through with that man, you think he can still be defeated?"

"Twice he has risen, and twice he has been returned to the earth."  Rick smiled, a smile of sadness but also of hope.  "Yes, I believe that he will be defeated.  When or how I do not know.  But I am ready and alert each day in the hopes that there is something I can do."

She smiled gently at him.  "Thank you.  You, who have done so much in the past, who is rightfully a hero for our time."

Rick looked down.  "Hardly a hero," he said honestly.  "I did not want to get involved either time.  It was only because of my wife and son that I fought Imhotep.  Without them, I would not have had the will to fight him and live.

"But he has gone to far this time," he continued, speaking in low tones, his voice strong and rising in anger.  "I hate Imhotep.  I swear, on everything that I hold dear, that I will have my revenge."

His eyes were fierce and adamant.  And in them was the bell tolling, the ominous signaling that Imhotep's rule would, someday, fall.

***

Far away from earth, in that place that can only be called the home of the divine, the Ancient Gods discussed the situation on earth dispassionately.

"Each principal player struggles alone, but only the labors of one will bear fruit," the Goddess observed, the words not physical sound but thoughts like fluid.  "Their destinies are all intertwined, and each will play a principal part in the finale of the play."

In the mystical silence that followed another, dissenting, voice spoke, asking the question with a hint of mockery.  "And what of the man, the Med Jai who is now a slave?"

The first voice answered calmly, smoothly.  "The Med Jai slave is not yet needed.  When the time has come, he will be called upon."

 "But I have not come to ask about the others.  I have come to plead the case of the High Priest and the Concubine."  It was silky smooth, ethereal, the voice of a God.

"There is no case to plead," the first voice rejoined.  "As of now, we can do nothing.  We set up the chessboard, but we cannot control the individual pieces." 

"But you began the game with stacked dice," the second voice argued, floating lazily in and above space, a fragment of sound in the wind.  "You gave the book back to the mortals, the book that should have been gone from the world forever."

The first voice carried a hint of a smile.  "Very well, my daughter, you are learning.  The book was needed, in times such as these.  We have seen to it that it will be used well." 

There was a pause, and then the divine intonation continued.  "The Priest and the Concubine were given a second chance, but they went too far in their conquest of the earth.  We must provide the world with the tools to reclaim what is theirs.

"As always my daughter, we are but light and dust, shadows and air..."

***


	12. Doubts

**Chapter Twelve: Doubts**

***

Anck-su-namun walked across her bedchamber.   It was richly decorated in gold, elaborate murals on the walls done with amazing detail and craftsmanship.  She was so often in this room that she practically knew the designs by heart.

She paused by her vanity table and examined her face in the mirror.  She was still beautiful, she thought with some satisfaction.  But there were slight circles under her eyes, and her skin did not glow as it used to.  It's nothing, she told herself. 

But Anck-su-namun knew that there was more to it than that.  She had not been sleeping well.  She did not do much sleeping when Imhotep was home, she thought with a small smile, but she did not sleep well when he was gone, either.

The truth was that she had nothing.  She was bored.  She wandered listlessly around the palace with nothing to do.  And Imhotep was so often gone, keeping order in parts of the world or meeting with his advisors, that she did not even have him to keep her company.  She sighed and turned away from the mirror, choosing to walk towards her balcony.

She was continually drawn to the balcony, her outlet to the world beyond her own.  "What is the point of ruling the world if I do not get to see any of it?" she thought, surprised at the bitterness in her own thoughts.

Not too surprised, Anck-su-namun thought ruefully.  The former concubine was always honest with herself, and she knew that she was not very happy here.  And she felt guilty and horrible for not being happy.

Imhotep had sacrificed and sacrificed for her, doing everything he could to bring her back and satisfy her.  He made her his Queen.  He gave her a beautiful palace.  And he loved her completely.  So why couldn't she be happy?

"Because you're horrible," she thought to herself, looking out over the expanses of desert sand.  "You don't deserve him."

But she knew that the explanation was not that simple.

Why, she wondered to herself, isn't love enough?  Because she knew now that it wasn't enough.  He was the other half of her heart, but he was not making her happy.  And part of the reason for her unhappiness was that she knew he had not told her the complete truth about their pasts.

"My Queen," the servant girl said quietly, interrupting Anck-su-namun's thoughts.  She had a few serving girls, but they were frightened of her and Anck-su-namun did not really like to be around them.

"Yes?" she responded absentmindedly, not turning around but continuing to stare out into the desert.

"Pharaoh is returning."

At those words, Anck-su-namun turned around.  "He is?" she asked, her face breaking open with a smile of joy.  When he was here, and they were together, she could be happy.

"Yes, my Queen," the girl responded, standing impassively and waiting for her mistress' instructions.

The servant girls had been required to learn how to speak basic Ancient Egyptian, and they knew how to form simple phrases and comments.  But while basic communication was possible, they could discuss nothing more than what she should wear, where she was needed, when dinner was served, blah blah blah.

The simple problem of language kept Anck-su-namun alienated from almost everyone around her.

Anck-su-namun smiled, a genuine smile of happiness.  "Well, help me into something suitable!" she exclaimed, pointing towards her chest of clothes.  Although she did not understand all of the words, the servant girl understood the intent behind them and the hand gesture that accompanied them, and so immediately went to the chest and opened it.

Anck-su-namun shrugged off her normal dress as the girl took a few gowns out of the chest.  "The gold one, my Queen?  Pharaoh liked this one," the girl suggested.

"Yes," Anck-su-namun replied, stepping into the filmy fabric as the girl drew it over her shoulders and tied it around the Queen's waist.  She brushed her hair as Anck-su-namun quickly chose some gold jewelry–some bangles for her wrists, a pendant to fall to just above her breasts.

The girl finished arranging Anck-su-namun's hair and stepped back, admiring her work.  She nodded, smiling, and the Queen smiled back, a simple connection that left Anck-su-namun's heart aching.

"Thank you, Aetella," Anck-su-namun said, drawing her light shawl over her shoulders as she left the room for the main hall.  She had renamed the girl because she could not pronounce her name, some horrible modern name that twisted her mouth and was lead on her tongue.

Anck-su-namun headed quickly for the throne room, which served as the main entry hall.  It was huge with two golden thrones at one end.  This was where Imhotep always came first and where he expected to meet her.

At the back entranceway Imhotep's guards opened the doors immediately for her.  As she came in, stepping out from behind the two thrones, she recoiled, her head filling with a momentary, unwanted vision.

Before her, it seemed, there was an army advancing.  They were coming through the main entranceway, heading straight for her across the vast expanse of the hall.  The people intended to harm her, but there was something odd about their movements–they were slow and awkward.  She tried to move, but still they advanced, and in the pit of her stomach she knew that this was her doom.

But the image gleamed and rippled like a pool of water, fading suddenly and replaced only with Imhotep, walking surely towards her.

What had she seen?  But she had no time to ponder it as he called out her name, his face beaming with joy.

"My love!" he called, moving quickly towards her still form.  "What troubles you?" he asked just as he swept her into his arms.

All of her thoughts banished as Imhotep kissed her.  He could always melt her with his passionate kisses, with his tender embraces.  Their lips met and held and moved and Anck-su-namun could not believe that she had ever been unhappy with a man like Imhotep who loved her.

The kiss ended, but Imhotep kept his arm around her.

"How are you, my Anck-su-namun?" he asked, holding her as the two of them walked out of the main hall and towards their private chambers.

"Good, and you?" she responded unthinkingly, looking up into his eyes.  He smiled lovingly down at her.

"Good, of course, as well," he said, smiling.  "It is so good to see you, I have missed you," he said, mesmerizing her with his warm brown eyes.

But suddenly something within her snapped.  She was not good.  She wasn't horrible, but why should she lie to him?  He loved her, he could understand if she was not completely happy.  She broke the embrace and moved a few steps away from him, turning her back to hide her churning emotions.

"My love?" Imhotep asked, moving towards her and placing his hands gently on her shoulders from behind.

She did not know what to say.  How much could she admit?  She did not want to hurt him or make him unhappy.  Yet she wanted so badly to confess her troubled emotions.  She wanted to explain what she was feeling, to lay her burdens on his shoulders.  What could she say?

"Who is Meela?"

That was not what she had meant to ask.  There was silence behind her.  "What?" Imhotep asked aloud, surprise evident in his voice.

She could not turn around.  "Why did I know the boy's name, even before it was spoken aloud?  Why did I seem to know all of these people before?"

Again, silence behind her.  His hands gently massaged her shoulders.  "Because you knew them in Ancient times, my love.  Of course they would seem familiar."

She turned around, looking up into his eyes.  "Imhotep, please.  That does not explain who Meela is, or why I knew the boy.  He was no one in the past, and you know it."

Imhotep sighed.  "How did you hear about Meela?"

Anck-su-namun looked down.  "I heard Nefertiri mentioning her name.  And it sounded so...eerily familar."

Imhotep hesitated.  After a moment he sighed.  He did not want to keep the truth from her, she who was the other half of his soul.  She deserved better.  And he knew that if he was in her place, he would need to know the truth.

"Meela was you," he said heavily.  He turned and sat down on a nearby couch.  "Meela was you."

"What?" Anck-su-namun asked incredulously.

"I have faced Nefertiri and her husband before.  Twice before, in fact.  The first time I did not recognize their souls, I had not awakened for three thousand years, I was confused.  But the second time...you awakened me."

"I do not understand," Anck-su-namun said, sitting gently beside Imhotep on the couch.  She was so glad to have him tell her the truth.  She caressed his hands as he spoke, trusting him completely.

"You were reincarnated as Meela, a woman who had your features but not your soul.  She was part of you, of course, and you a part of her, but...you would remember nothing that happened within her body."

Anck-su-namun shook her head, trying to digest this new information.  "So Nefertiri and her husband knew you before in their current lifetimes, that is why they recognized you...and me."

Imhotep nodded slowly.  "Yes."

Anck-su-namun leaned towards him, reaching her hand up and gently stroking his face.  "So what happened to us that second time?"

So Imhotep told her.  He left nothing out.  He related every detail, including Meela's murder of Nefertiri, her relationship with the boy.  And by the time he got to the end of the story, Anck-su-namun was crying.

"I ran from you?" she whispered in shame.  "Oh my love, Imhotep, I will never forgive myself."

"You must forgive yourself," Imhotep insisted, holding her tightly.  "I knew that it was not you.  I forgave you even as I fell to my death."

"But a part of me was in there, it was a part of me that betrayed you."  Anck-su-namun hung her head in shame, the tears slowly cascading down her bronze cheeks.

"As there is evil in every person, there is some in you.  Meela was a bad woman combined with all of your worst attributes.  It was not your fault.  It was not you.  Know that always, my Queen."  Imhotep gently brushed her tears away.  He loved her so much and he did not wish to cause her any more pain.

"Then why did you kill yourself?" Anck-su-namun asked, looking up into his eyes.

"You were lost to me in that life.  Our time together was over.  There was nothing more I could have done."

"I shall never forgive myself," Anck-su-namun insisted, crying onto Imhotep's muscled shoulder.

They held each other for hours like that, just crying and rocking and comforting each other.  Imhotep was glad that he could finally share the truth with her, and he knew that she was strong enough to overcome her feelings of guilt.  And, inside, he was a tiny bit pleased that she was so broken by her actions.  After all, she had hurt him terribly.  And this reaffirmation of her love warmed Imhotep's heart.

In contrast, Anck-su-namun was miserable.  She had finally learned the truth, but it was not what she had wanted to hear.  She had betrayed Imhotep in the worst possible moment.  She had been a cold, callous woman who had murdered without a thought.  She deserved death, or worse.  And Imhotep was just so forgiving!  It broke her heart even more.

She owed him everything, and still she was not happy?  Her guilt increased by the second.  "You worthless whore," she thought to herself.  "He has given you everything, you have betrayed him and he has forgiven you, and you are still not happy."  She could not lift her head to meet Imhotep's eyes, she was so filled with shame.

***

"My sweet...."  Imhotep began, slowly untangling himself from her arms.  "I must check with my advisors before we dine, there is much I must catch up on."  He stood, looking down at her.  She was beautiful, her eyes wet and luminous, her hair slightly tousled.  "I love you, and I will see you tonight at dinner."  He leaned down and kissed her forehead.

He was about to leave when something stopped him.  "You see, my love, what Nefertiri and the Med Jai have done to us in the past.  They have beaten us not only in our first lives, but in every reincarnation.  This is our time."  And Imhotep's eyes filled with an intense light.  "It is time for our triumph.  The Gods have given me an almost divine rule.  I own the world.  That is what we deserve, this is our revenge."

He paused, his eyes dark with hatred.  "They will pay.  I have not decided yet how they will be punished, but I will see to it.  They will pay for driving us apart."

With a last look at her reclining form, Imhotep strode out of the room.

***

Anck-su-namun watched Imhotep's broad back disappear out of the chamber.  She was so confused.  She did not know what to do.  She loved Imhotep more than anything.  But suddenly she began to have serious doubts.  

This man was a changed Imhotep.  This Imhotep was different.  She remembered how, in Ancient times, he was a man who would kill only for her love.  He murdered Seti to set her free.  Now, he killed for pleasure.  He killed innocent people who were trying to defend their country.  He enslaved thousands of others.  This could not, Anck-su-namun decided, be right.

But look what you did to him, she thought.  As Meela you betrayed him.  You hardened and hurt his soul.  Maybe you are the cause.  Maybe your betrayal had made him so bitter and angry inside that he will stop at nothing.

Anck-su-namun moaned in agony and covered her head with her hands.  She was so confused.  She knew this couldn't be right, and yet she loved Imhotep beyond imagining.  She disagreed with his actions and yet she might herself be the cause of them.  Her heart twisted in pain.

But suddenly, another horrible thought entered her mind.  What if he was not a different Imhotep in mind but a different Imhotep in body?  Everything she had been taught about Med Jai curses told her that, perhaps, Imhotep was not completely the same person he was in ancient times.  He was Imhotep, but was someone new, a side of him dark and unholy.  In him now was unnatural evil, a part of him she had never known.

She shivered, suddenly fearful.

Her thoughts turned to Nefertiri, the woman who she was supposedly having her revenge on.  It was completely joyless.  And seeing the love between Alex and Evy, Anck-su-namun wondered if this was not truly a punishment.  Maybe the Gods were not on Imhotep's side at all.  Maybe they were on the side of the Princess and the Med Jai.  After all, hadn't Imhotep lost three times in the past?  Why would the Gods suddenly change their minds?

Anck-su-namun cowered on the couch, clutching herself in indecision, fear, love, and guilt.  What do I do? she wondered.

***


	13. More Waiting

**Chapter Thirteen: More Waiting**

***

There was nothing to do, and Ardeth found himself wandering listlessly around the camp.  While the other Med Jai were completing the basic tasks of desert living, Ardeth had nothing to fill his time.

He wandered to the "barn," which several of the men called it as a joke, where the remaining livestock were kept.  It was actually just a small plateau on the mountain with rocks on three sides.  The male Med Jai took turns watching and feeding the animals–clumps of grass, roots, acorns–anything the desert people could take from the clutching mountain.  Ardeth exchanged pleasantries with the men working there, encouraging them.  But his words were brighter than his thoughts. 

About seventy five percent of the tribe's livestock had been destroyed by the Priest's onslaught.  What remained were some sheep and goats and a few pigs, and they were being carefully tended.  It was crucial–for food, for milk, for clothing–that the animals continue to mate.  If the tribe had lost all of their animals, most of the small children would have died.

After speaking briefly with a few of the men on duty, Ardeth walked down the steep path to the women's circle, where many of the mothers were sewing new clothing while they watched their children play.  Several of the mothers were spinning the precious sheepskin into wool, which would keep many of the tribe warm in the cool desert nights.

Finally, weary and bored, Ardeth returned to his tent.  He lay down and closed his eyes, remembering a better time.  As the afternoon wore on, he slowly drifted off, until he was completely asleep.  He slept restlessly, disjointed thoughts swirling through his troubled mind.  As he slept, he dreamed...he remembered...

_"Truly, Ardeth, you must know the constellation of Orion, the great hunter," she murmured, pointing up, where the great stars were twinkling in the dark clear sky._

_"Indeed, my mother taught me his shape," Ardeth insisted, attempting to retain a few shreds of dignity. _

_Sakina laughed.  "You have no eye for the heavens, my Leader," she said, leaning back, her long wavy hair sliding past her shoulders, hanging gently down her back._

_"I do not spend my time on those things that do not effect me or my people," he responded seriously.  _

_"But does not everything in our world–the sun, the warm sand, the eastern wind blowing in from the Nile–somehow, somewhere, effect our people?" she asked, a slight twinkle in her eye._

_"You are disagreeing with me on purpose," Ardeth exclaimed.  "The design of the stars is constant–it cannot effect how we work and live."_

_Sakina laughed.  "Although, my Leader, it may appear so, you yourself know that the sky is constantly changing._"

_"Perhaps," he acquiesced, drolly arching his eyebrow. "Although I may not know much about astronomy," he affirmed, "I know that the great North Star,_ _Sirius, never moves."  He leaned back, admiring her proud, intelligent face bathed in shadows and moonlight.  _

_"But Ardeth, everything in the universe is moving," she replied with mock seriousness, enjoying simply teasing him._

_Ardeth groaned in mock frustration.  "You know as well as I that from our earth the sky appears forever constant and unchanging."_

_"But the earth, the sand under your feet, is moving too, is it not?"   She smiled gently, the moonlight cascading off her gleaming hair.  Her smile faded softly, and she became serious again.  "Ah, Ardeth, what would you do if suddenly the rudder of your ship failed to steer you home?"  And in that moment, in her dark eyes, Ardeth knew her not as woman of the tribe but as mother, as goddess, as the priestess of the day and of the night who, in her words, will bestow upon men the blessings of wisdom._

***

Ardeth sat up abruptly, surprised at himself for falling asleep.  What time was it?  He brushed aside the worn flap of the tent, realizing from the position of the sun that it was only an hour or two until sunset.

"Damn," he muttered, rising from his pallet and slowly stretching out his sore muscles.  He made his way outside, shielding his eyes from where the sun was low and orange in the sky.

"Ardeth," a voice called to him, and he turned away from the western sky to face Adil as the young man, breathing heavily, made his way up the steep path.  

"Ardeth," he said again, panting, coming to a rest before his leader.

"Yes, Adil?" Ardeth asked, slightly amused at the other man's eagerness.

"I've been thinking," the younger man blurted, regaining his breath.

"That's good," Ardeth replied, hiding a smile.

"I was thinking," Adil continued breathlessly, "why didn't Imhotep raise lots of dead slaves to serve him?  I mean, why use lots of human slaves who could be difficult when he could just raise lots of dead, docile slaves instead?" he finished in a rush, bumbling through some of the words in the process of explaining his idea.  

"Why didn't Imhotep raise lots of dead slaves?"  Ardeth repeated, the question slowly making sense in his sleep addled brain.  

"Yes," the younger man replied, waiting eagerly for Ardeth's reply.

"Why didn't Imhotep raise lots of dead slaves," Ardeth said again, thinking aloud.  He began to pace slowly back and forth in front of the entrance to his tent.

"That's a good question, a very good question," he murmured, his mind working frantically as he tried to remember his own past with the High Priest.

"When I encountered the Creature for the first time," Ardeth began, thinking back on the many times he had faced Imhotep, "we were in Cairo.  He raised many dead slaves to follow and attack us.  They had sores and boils on their skin, and they followed us into the Museum of Antiquities.  I remember, I remember so well..." Ardeth's voice trailed off as he remembered standing on the balcony as Evy read the ancient words, watching the dead slowly advance towards them...

He mentally shook off the horrors of the memory.  "If Imhotep had the Book of the Dead then, and then he used it to raise the dead, why didn't he do it again?" he asked aloud.

Adil wanted to be helpful and give an intelligent answer.  But Ardeth was so far beyond him, in memory and experience, that the young man decided to remain silent, watching his mentor in almost a state of awe.

But Ardeth was already running with a new thought, thinking out loud while he paced.  "Imhotep could easily resurrect Anck-su-namun without the black book–their souls were intertwined, tied together in life and death.  Even his dead Priests, his mummies, could be raised without the black book, for they were his guards, his followers, and would obey him."  Ardeth suddenly stopped, running his fingers agitatedly through his hair.  "But to raise slaves–with whom Imhotep had no binding tie–or modern day citizens killed by his onslaught, he would need the Book of the Dead."

Adil remained silent as he watched Ardeth pace like a panther in a cage, his taut muscles rippling as he moved, silent and graceful as a jungle cat.

"But Imhotep didn't raise ancient slaves or modern day citizens.  Why?"  Ardeth looked up at Adil, both slightly afraid to voice the answer forming in their minds.

Ardeth continued, excitement beginning to show in his voice.  "Because he didn't have the power to.  He _couldn't_."

In the silence, the Med Jai leader finished the unspoken thought.  "Perhaps Imhotep does not have the Book of the Dead," Ardeth breathed.

Adil's young face paled slightly at the implications of this statement.

There was a heavy silence while both men considered this new possibility.  "If Imhotep does not have the Book of the Dead, then who does?" Adil asked timidly, breaking the silence.

After a long pause, Ardeth spoke.  "I don't know."

***

After informing the elders of their new discovery, Ardeth returned wearily to his tent, his copper skin streaked with dirt and sweat.  He longed for a bath, but water was scarce, so he had accustomed himself to bathing with only one small cup-full of water.

They had listened eagerly, excited by the possibility that they had some advantage over the High Priest.  But, as always, they were unsure about taking action.  All of the elders agreed that there was evidence to suggest Imhotep did not have the book, but they also agreed that the evidence was circumstantial.  Ardeth closed his eyes and remembered Sharma's words.  "Imhotep might still have the black book.  If we are lucky, and he does not have it, we still have no idea where it is.  It is still highly dangerous to take the offensive when we know so little."  Ardeth watched while the elders all nodded their heads.  

Ardeth was so tired of arguing with them he didn't even disagree.

Omar had nodded sympathetically with Ardeth, stating that this was an important insight that could be used to the Med Jai's advantage.  But, he cautioned, with a note of sadness in his eyes, that the desert tribe was too weak.  "A failed attempt on Anck-su-namun's life could mean the end of the Med Jai," he stated gently.

And Ardeth had bowed his head, accepting what he had not wanted to ever admit: that the twelve tribes of the Med Jai had been reduced to one, that many had died, that they had been defeated, and that they might never be strong enough to challenge the High Priest again.

He sat down heavily on the edge of his pallet, quietly untangling a knot in his dark, long hair.  His thoughts, as they often did, returned to Sakina.  He found himself thinking more and more about her as the weeks passed on, as he and his people became more and more removed from the struggles of the real world.  The longer they did not act, the more Ardeth became entwined in his memories and dreams.

Her face rose before him, clearer than ever, and Ardeth allowed himself to fantasize about what life would have been like if Imhotep had not risen again, if he had married Sakina, if he had had children by her.  __

_His little son calls his name as he returns, running into his waiting arms.  'My boy,' he murmurs, as Sakina approaches, kissing him gently on the cheek as she lifts his boy out of his arms.  She tells him what they did that day, what little Ardeth said and did, as they eat.  Later, when the boy sleeps, they lie together, speaking in hushed tones, and then they become one, join together as man and woman, and he knows true happiness..._

But, of course, and as always, it was just a fantasy.  She was dead and gone.  And he had never even kissed her.

Gripping his face in his calloused hands, Ardeth admitted to himself that, perhaps, he was more in love with the memory of her than with her.  Sakina represented his old life, his life before Imhotep took control, a time of happiness and prosperity.  She was a symbol in his heart of all that he had lost.  And for the rest of his life, he would bear her memory with him.

Ardeth sighed again.  No matter what their relationship was, or how much he had truly loved her, she was gone.  He closed his eyes, allowing himself to float back into his memories.

***

_"Sakina," he said, coming up behind her at the watering well.  She lifted her bucket, brimming and full, her arms bronzed and strong.  "Let me help you," he insisted, coming over to lift the weight from her shoulders._

_"Ardeth," she replied, with a shaking of her head and a half smile.  "It is my responsibility.  I will carry this load."_

_And when he protested, she become serious, resting her free hand on his arm while she balanced the heavy bucket against her hip.  "There is not much I can do, Ardeth Bay, as a woman in this tribe.  I will carry this load."_

_And so he let her, walking her home, feeling foolish as she staggered slightly under the weight.  At her door, she smiled and thanked him.  He would always remember that lovely smile.  "You are a good man," she said._

_"Not as good as many," he responded as she set the water down on the damp earth._

_"No," she said after a moment, her eyes searching, pondering his face.  "You are better than most."_

_"You flatter me, lady," he said, bowing, lifting her hand up to his lips.  He gently kissed her skin, her hand warm in his palm._

_She smiled, merriment and pleasure crinkling her eyes.  But there was no coyness, none of the shock of a girl.  "You are wise in the ways of women, my leader," she said, her voice tinkling with mirth, like the wood chimes Ardeth's mother used to make when he was a boy. _

_"Not so wise," he replied, laughing, "for I still do not have a wife."_

_They looked at each other, in the silence.  "Nor I a husband," she replied quietly, slowly withdrawing her hand from his warm grasp.  She turned to go inside, but stopped, looking up into his dark eyes._

_"You understand me, Ardeth," she said earnestly, resting one hand on her heart.  "You, too, would do anything for your people."_

_***_

The rustling of his tent brought Ardeth abruptly back to the present.  He forced Sakina from his mind, standing up and rapidly rubbing his eyes as Rashid dropped the flap behind him.  

"Ardeth," he said cautiously, moving forward into the light of the candle.  "I have a few words I wish to speak to you," he continued, looking slightly ill at ease.

"Yes, Rashid?" Ardeth asked tiredly, leaning back up against the main pole supporting the burlap tent, expecting another lecture.

But none came.  Instead Rashid continued to look at him, unsure of how he wanted to phrase his thoughts.  He looked down at his gnarled old hands, hands that were once supple and strong.  In the end, he opted for honesty.  "I was not happy when you were made Leader.  I thought your father was a great man, and I thought you were too young."

Rashid paused, looking up to see the effect these words were having on the younger man.  Ardeth did not look especially surprised.

"You were always respectful enough, Elder," Ardeth commented wryly.

Rashid met his eyes, sympathy and sorrow etching his features.

"Ardeth, I may not have always agreed with your decisions, or your methods, but you have proven your bravery, your loyalty, and your good judgement many times.  I understand better than most the tremendous accomplishment of stopping Imhotep."  Rashid paused to take a breath.  "I know, now," he conceded, "that you are worthy to follow your father."

Ardeth dropped his gaze, embarrassed at the rush of emotion flooding his own features.

"I know also," Rashid persisted softly, "how proud he would have been of you."

A lump rose in Ardeth's throat.  Rashid, seeing the effect of his words on the young leader, quickly pressed his point. "We have much respect for you, son of Hakim Muhammed Bay. But that does not mean you are invincible, that does not mean that we cannot advise you.  You must allow us to help you."

Ardeth turned away to hide the tears in his eyes.

The two men, one a battle-hardened warrior and leader of his people, one a revered, wise, and frail old man, stood in silence together.  And perhaps, as they stood there, they began to come together, and each repented the enmity that had come between them.

After a few long minutes, Rashid gently broke the silence.

"Do you know, Ardeth, of the Greek tale, the story of Perseus?"

Ardeth slowly nodded his assent, wondering where the old man was going.

"It was the great Perseus who slayed the terrible beast Medusa, with her head of writhing snakes.  He was a brave young man, full of tales of honor and glory and the greatness of his ancestors."  Rashid paused, the deliberate pause of the storyteller.  

"When Perseus reached that place, Medusa's birthplace, that place of silence and terrored stone..."  Rashid paused again, the ancient words flowing like poetry off his tongue.  "He watched her rise above him, watching her through the gleaming metal of his golden shield."

Rashid paced a few steps, his voice haunting and melodious, enveloping Ardeth in the ancient story.  "They fought.  They fought a horrible battle, as no mortal has ever seen or dared to imagine.  Finally, in his darkest moment, with Medusa's hot breath against his neck, when he was sure that all was lost...."

Rashid swallowed, his eyes slightly glazed over. "He struck, he struck her with his mighty sword, he severed her writhing head from her body.  And when he held her giant head in his hands, the snakes torpid and cold..."  Rashid paused again, lost in the images of his tale.  

"When he held her head in his hands, they say that

'none could have passed him then–

no garland bearing girl, no priest

or staring boy–and lived.'"

Ardeth was silent, lost in the ancient fable, the same words of spoken poetry passed on from generation to generation.  It chilled him slightly to think that this, one of the many stories his mother had told him as a boy, had been told to his ancestors thousands of years ago.

Rashid slowly turned to Ardeth, his eyes slightly damp.  "In stopping the horrible beast, Perseus himself became the murderer.  He himself became the creature he had sworn to kill."

Ardeth stayed silent, understanding the parable yet still caught up in its majesty.

Rahid sighed.  "Do you understand what I am saying, Ardeth?  No matter how badly we wish to fight and destroy Imhotep, we must not sink to his levels.  We cannot risk becoming what we have pledged to hate and destroy."

Ardeth remained silent, not quite trusting his voice to hold steady.  "Sometimes does it not take a monster to kill one?"

Rashid nodded gently.  "But we must hold true to the honor of our ancestors."  He took a step towards his Leader.  "Would you kill one innocent man to send Imhotep back to his grave?  Two?"

Ardeth looked up, but could not answer.

"Would you kill fifty innocent people?  A hundred?  A thousand?

"Ardeth..."  the elder spoke into the silence. "These are not easy questions.  But you must be ready to answer them."  He paused again, struggling with the difficult words. "You see...I am afraid of what we might do in the name of our people.  I am afraid of what we might sacrifice, in integrity, in humanity."  Rashid met Ardeth's eyes.  And in the old man's eyes was a plea.

"I am afraid that in this final battle we will be forced to act, to make choices...we will lose our honor.  And we will lose ourselves."

"I will never become Imhotep," Ardeth asserted fiercely.  But in the old man's words, the Leader of the Med Jai heard wisdom.

Ardeth was no wise-man, and he was certainly no scholar.  He was a fighter, a leader, a man who inspired such bravery and loyalty in his troops that they would follow him to the ends of the earth.  Indeed, Rashid's words touched him, but it was not the words of a parable that touched his heart.  It was his warrior's instinct.

In the silence that followed, Ardeth remembered words he had spoken long ago, words he had spoken to a friend in need.  Words he had spoken to stop a man from throwing his life away.

He remembered the look of pain on Rick O'Connell's face, the frustration, the anger.  The deep, burning desire of a warrior to fight, to prove his valor, to use his strength and skill.  But Ardeth had held him back.  

They truly were brothers, weren't they?  And with the same words, whispered in his own memories, Ardeth held himself back.__

_Live today, fight tomorrow._

Ardeth sighed heavily, looking up into Rashid's concerned eyes.  "We will wait.  We will wait until we are stronger.  And when that day comes, when the moment comes when we have an advantage over the Creature...we will strike."

And Rashid, too, in his wisdom, bowed his head.

***

Note: The quoted lines at the end of the chapter are from the Robert Hayden poem "Perseus."

***


	14. Paris to Calcutta

**Chapter Fourteen: ****Paris**** to ****Calcutta**

***

Jonathan watched as the errand boy, under direction from Hubert, carried the last of the suitcases  up the narrow steps into the luxury steam locomotive.  He sighed with nervous apprehension.  "Here we go," he murmured to himself, turning in time to see Jacques approaching.  

"Are you ready?" the Frenchman asked. 

"As ready as I'll ever be," he replied honestly.

They were standing on the station platform, getting ready to depart from Paris.  It had only been five days since they had received the telegram from Shanghai, informing them of the discovery of the Black Book.  But here they were standing, about to leave on the Orient Express, the most famous railway line in Europe.  It would take them from Paris to Vienna, to Bucharest, and finally to Istanbul.  The trip would only take three nights and four days, but it was the easiest leg of their journey.

And it would take them only one fourth of the way to Shanghai.

Jacques smiled too.  "You are our only hope, Jon," he said, clapping him on the back.  A torrent of emotions ran through Jonathan.  Part of him was happy and eager to start, while the other part of him was deathly afraid of what he might face.

It was strange, Jonathan reflected, looking around at the hustle and bustle, how the world was, in many ways, the same as it had been before Imhotep came to power.  Commerce had continued, practically the same as it had always been.  After Imhotep had cemented his rule, people adjusted to the new, odd stability he offered.  Entrepreneurs and business men rose to take the place of the old.  Shops, theaters, hotels; trains, buses, ships–all had continued running almost uninterrupted.

Of course, many things were different.  Thousands of human beings were enslaved.  Millions had been murdered.  The world was being ruled on the whims of a reincarnated High Priest of Osiris.  It was, Jonathan mulled, almost farcical.  But human beings are amazing in their ability to survive–to pull together, to overcome horrible loss.

Changing the name of a territory does not change the territory itself.  It reminded Jonathan of his school lessons of the ancient Roman Empire.  It didn't matter to the peasants who wore the purple in the Imperial Palace.  The rulers and the names changed–but their farmland, trade, and lives remained very much the same.

"Everything's loaded up," Hubert said, joining the two men on the busy platform.

Hubert was a young French resistence fighter who was joining Jonathan on his trip to the East.  He was laconic, but intelligent, determined, and fiercely loyal.  Jonathan was glad to have him along.  It was good to have company when you were trying to save the world, he reflected sardonically.

"Great, thank you Hubert," Jacques said, turning toward the younger man, but his eye was caught by a man in a dark hat who was leaning up against the wall of the platform.

"What do you see, old chap?" Jonathan asked, noticing Jacques eyes narrow in suspicion.

"Probably one of Imhotep's spies," he said lowly, not taking his eyes off of the man.  He suddenly looked away and back into Jonathan's face, forcing a smile.  "Just keep an eye out for them.  Your papers and story are flawless.  You shouldn't have any problems."

Jonathan nodded, sticking his hands deep into his jacket pockets.

"Now, are you sure you have everything?" Jacques continued, looking at each man anxiously.  "You each have your passports and National Identification papers?" 

Both men nodded nervously.

He paused, looking into both their faces.  "And you both remember your story?"

The three of them had gone over and over Jonathan and Hubert's fake history and relationship many times.

They both nodded nervously again.

"What are your names?" Jacques prodded.

"Jean-Luc Belleau," Hubert responded quickly, clutching his papers in his hand.

"How did I get the name Benedict Evans?" Jonathan joked.  "I sound like I belong in the House of Lords."

"Because Benedict Evans had a clean record, and now he's dead," Jacques replied simply.

Jonathan nodded, quickly sobering.  "We remember our story, don't we Huey?"

Hubert nodded, tucking a hidden dagger into his boot.  

"Very well then," Jacques said, clapping his hands together.  "We have all the faith in the world in you two.  We know you will succeed in finding the book."

"We will," Hubert asserted, adjusting his shoulder holster, which held a concealed handgun.  This gun was in addition to the two handguns and single shotgun concealed within their luggage, not to mention the package of extra bullets.

Jonathan shook his head warily.  "Are you sure we need that, old chap?"

Hubert nodded seriously.  "You never know when we might need one."

Jacques nodded, agreeing.  "Hubert is an expert, Jon.  You have no need to worry."

Jonathan forced a smile, realizing how immanent their departure now was.  They were about to depart for the unknown, for a hazardous journey they might not complete alive.  Hubert exchanged a few words with Jacques, shook hands with him, and then turned and disappeared into the massive black train.

Left alone, Jonathan turned to his friend.  "Are you sure you don't want to come along?" he asked, the question somewhere between a joke and a plea.

Jacques shook his head.  "I am needed here." 

Jonathan nodded, understanding, a sad, bittersweet, shadow of a smile crossing his face.  He knew that he might never see Jacques again in this lifetime, a man whom he admired and had come to trust more than anyone.  But he drew courage from his task: a journey to help to free his sister and the world from the tyranny of the man who ruled it.

"Goodbye Jacques," Jonathan whispered.

As the train's whistle blared, and the locomotive slowly began pulling away, Jonathan turned to look outside his window, for one last glance at Jacques and the safety of his past.   As they chugged down the track, Jacques straightened and saluted him.  The salute a soldier gives to his General.

***three weeks later***

Jonathan sighed as he sunk into a cushioned chair in the dining car, glancing restlessly out as the landscape whizzing by.  This was their second day on the train from Bombay to Calcutta, and Jonathan reflected aimlessly that this once had been the crown jewel of the British Empire.  Now, of course, it was part of the vast, nameless territory controlled by Imhotep.

"Hungry?" Hubert asked, breaking into his thoughts.

Jonathan smiled.  "My boy, I am always hungry," he confirmed, reaching for one of the fancy menus.

Hubert concurred.  "This is much nicer than the awful salted beef and lemon juice we drank on the ship."

"Well, we couldn't travel first class all the way," Jonathan commented as he debated internally whether he wanted the steak or the cornish hen.

After traveling on the luxury Orient Express from Paris to Istanbul, Jonathan and Hubert had boarded a ship bound for Bombay.  The trip had taken two weeks, across part of the Mediterranean Sea, through the Suez Canal and the Gulf of Aden, and across the Arabian Sea to the western coast of India.  Passing so close to Egypt–where so many of his memories were from, and where his sister was imprisoned–had been hard for Jonathan.  But he knew that he was helping Evy, no matter how far apart they physically were.  She was in his mind and heart every day.

Hubert's parents were long dead, so he was completely unsentimental about coming within 10 miles of the entrance to the Nile valley.  His mother and father had both died in a car accident when he was a small child.  When Imhotep came to power, Hubert threw himself into the resistence movement.  Jonathan never said it aloud, but he suspected that Hubert was devoting himself to the cause as a way of giving meaning to his life.  

So Jonathan talked about his feelings of loss–losing Evy, losing Rick, losing Alex.  Hubert never said so, but Jonathan was sure that it made Hubert feel better.  The younger man could know that he wasn't alone in his feelings of isolation.

Hubert had never been outside of France, and the views from the trains were nothing but grass and mountains, so Jonathan decided that they would stay for a few days in Istanbul and see the famous sites.  The former Constantinople of the Christians had absolutely amazed Hubert.  Walking through the mosques, the gardens–he had been completely in awe.  Jonathan hoped that he was helping the young man find what he was looking for.

"Gotta go with the steak," Hubert said, leaning back and stretching on the plush seats.

Jonathan sighed.  "I suppose you're right," he conceded, dropping his menu with a flourish.

It felt great to be able to order real food again.  The dining car on the Orient Express was known for its fantastic cuisine, and the two resistence fighters had eaten like they were kings.  The steam ship, however, was another story.  It wasn't a passenger ship; Jonathan and Hubert had made special arrangements with the captain.  This meant that for two weeks they had slept on sacks of flour and had eaten salted beef and lemons with the rest of the crew.  It hadn't been pleasant, but it hadn't been terrible either.  It was just another experience, another notch on Jonathan's belt.

As they chewed their steaks, pink on the inside and covered with a fine Bordelaise sauce, they spoke in low voices.

"Once we reach Calcutta, how will we get to Shanghai?" Hubert asked.  "Do we know if there are any trains that run from Calcutta into China?"

Jonathan sighed, considering.  "I don't know.  My guess is that there may be a few trains, probably one that runs to Lhasa.  But China is a very backward country in many ways, Huey," he continued, chewing his lip as he thought.  "Most of the citizens still use an ox driven cart, you know.  The roads, I'm sure, are terrible.  We should probably try to get a ship to take us further east along the coast."

Hubert visibly grimaced.  "Another ship?"

The older man laughed at his discomfort.  "It was that bad for you, old mum?"

Hubert squirmed a little, embarrassed.  "You know I got sea-sick," he mumbled.

Jonathan laughed sympathetically.  "We'll try to find another way but I don't think we will," he said, stabbing a succulent piece of meat with his fork.  After chewing slowly, and enjoying every last taste, he reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a map.

He spread it on the table so Hubert could also see, and looked at it closely.  "Sorry, old chap, but it looks like we'll have to take a ship from Calcutta, around the coast to Hong Kong."

"Oh no," Hubert groaned, holding his stomach, remembering all the nights he was unable to sleep, nauseous and unhappy.  "See what I'm enduring for you people?"

***

The train chugged its way down the final length of track into Calcutta, slowing down as it approached the platform.  Hubert pulled down the last of their suitcases from the rack inside their sleeping cabin, grunting as he lifted the heavy bag.  "We're here," he said, stepping out of the cabin into the hallway, where Jonathan stood carrying his own two bags.

The train slowly screeched to a stop, the whistle blowing.  A cabin boy rushed forward and took Jonathan's bags from him, running down to the platform and neatly stacking them, then rushing back to take Hubert's bags and place them too on the platform.  Jonathan tipped the boy generously as he and Hubert exited the train.  Men and women were all around them, unloading bags and suitcases.

"Excuse me, sir," a voice spoke behind him.  Jonathan spun around.

A middle aged man of Indian descent with a thick black mustache stood there.  He was relatively short and spoke his English with a heavy accent.  "I assume you are English, no?" he asked, looking Jonathan up and down.

Hubert moved over and stood behind his partner.

"Yes," Jonathan replied, looking the man over warily.  "Can I help you?"

The man smiled, the expression oily and hard.  "Yes.  Special police."  And he flashed a shiny looking badge.  A badge with his name chiseled under an image Jonathan had burned into his memory.  The image of a scarab within a five pronged star. 

"Imhotep's special police," the man continued, still smiling.  But the smile did not reach his eyes, and his voice was threatening and cold.  "Will you come with me please?"

***

Note: A few notes on the historical accuracies/inaccuracies in this chapter: Please give me a break on the historical stuff.  I did my best to research it (what trains were running in the 1930s, where they stopped, how long it took, etc.) but I had to wing it and do a little guesswork for some of this.  Additionally, this is A/U, so who knows how people traveled under Imhotep's reign? ;-) Thanks for cutting me some slack.  -M

***


	15. Calcutta to Shanghai

**Chapter Fifteen: ****Calcutta**** to ****Shanghai**

***

"Thank you for coming with me so peacefully," the little Indian man said, squinting his beady eyes at Jonathan and Hubert.  "It makes my job so much easier when people...just go along."

Jonathan and Hubert just sat there, trying to stay calm.  This could be nothing more than a routine check, Jonathan tried to convince himself.  This could be completely normal.

There were check-points at every port and railway stop in Africa and at every port on the Mediterranean and Red seas–anything within 1500 miles of Imhotep's grand palace.  Jonathan and Hubert had been through several checks already, including a rather annoying one in Massawa in northern Ethiopia.  They hadn't been dumb enough to bring anything that could tie them to the resistence movement (except the key, which had been carefully disguised inside a clay figurine of the virgin Mary), but it was still nerve-wracking to watch the guards search through their luggage.

But that check, like all the others, had been routine.  This inspection was different.

Jonathan glanced around the small gloomy room, a single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling.  The inspection officer smiled silkily, attempting in his loathsome little way to put them at ease.

"What did you say your name was?" Jonathan asked suddenly, trying to stave off his nervousness by talking.

"You can call me Dr. Bhunia," he said, eyeing them closely.

"Are you a medical doctor?" Jonathan continued, trying to put the man on the defensive. 

"No," the man said curtly.

"Do you have a Ph.D?" Jonathan continued aggressively.  If they could take more control of the situation, they had a better chance of survival.

"I will be asking the questions," the doctor snapped.  Well, so much for that plan.

"What are your names?" he asked, sitting right across the wood table from them.

"Evans, Benedict Evans," Jonathan said naturally, the lie sliding easily off of his tongue.

"And your nationality?" Bhunia pressed.

"Can't you tell, old mum?  London, born and raised," Jonathan chattered, trying to diffuse the tense situation.

The man nodded, turning to Hubert.  He slowly opened their identification papers, scrutinizing them right before them.  Trying to make them nervous.  Trying to make them crack.

"And you're Jean-Luc Belleau?" he questioned, looking at the younger man.

Hubert nodded tensely.  Loosen up, old boy, Jonathan begged him silently.  Act _natural_.  Jonathan had, after all, always been good at twisting the truth.

"I was born in Calais," Hubert offered, sounding a little less nervous.

"So how do you know each other?" Bhunia asked, making the simple question sound like a threat.

"Jean-Luc married my younger sister, Danielle," Jonathan explained, the story simple to tell after having gone over it so many times.

"So where is...Danielle Belleau?" the Indian man asked.

"Missing," Hubert broke in, and Jonathan could have cheered for him.  He looked every part the worried and brokenhearted spouse.  "She just up and disappeared one day.  She left a message that she didn't want to live in Paris anymore, because of Imhotep's guards being so oppressive there..." Hubert trailed off, pretending that he didn't want to say anymore.

"Continue," Bhunia demanded.

"She had always talked about going to Hong Kong, to see the place where their mother had been born," Hubert said, pointing to Jonathan.

"Yes, our mother was born in British controlled Hong Kong, but she moved back to London when she was a teenager," Jonathan added.

"We think she went there, and we both want so badly to track her down," Hubert added, getting into his role as distressed husband.  "I miss her so much, and I'm so afraid something might happen to her."

Bhunia regarded them suspiciously, but seemed to be relenting.  "Why would she go to Hong Kong and not anywhere else in the world?  What makes you two so sure?"

"It's all she talked about," Hubert said miserably.  "I should have known.  I can't believe I didn't see the signs."

Bhunia was eating it up. "Women," he declared, shaking his head.  "Wives leave all the time.  I've seen more than my fair share of distressed husbands," he continued pedantically.

Hubert–who was turning out to be a big ham, Jonathan thought wickedly–drooped his head, appearing inconsolable.

"Well then," Bhunia said, sighing, looking up at them from their papers on the table.  "I only have one last question for you two boys.  Have either of you heard of the name Jonathan Carnahan?"

Jonathan nearly choked, but at the last minute kept his composure.  He recovered by shrugging uninterestedly, hiding his fear and surprise.  "You mean the Englishmen who supposedly stopped Imhotep twice before?"  He shrugged again.  "We've all heard the stories."

Bhunia laughed odiously.  "We have, haven't we?" he tittered greasily to himself as he stretched, his fat arms reaching above his shiny head.  "Then you've heard of The Book of the Dead?"

This time Jonathan nearly threw up.  "What?" he squeaked.

"You have heard of it, then?" Bhunia asked with newfound interest.

"Just in passing, old chap, really," Jonathan insisted, his voice having returned to its normal pitch.

"It's in all the stories," Hubert stepped in, drawing Bhunia's attention away from a nervous Jonathan.  "What is it, really?  I'm dying to know."

Bhunia then seemed to lose interest.  "I'm not at liberty to say," he said mysteriously, hoarding his small bit of knowledge to inevitably increase his own self-esteem.  When there is little power to be had, Jonathan remembered his father telling him once, many will grasp for it.

Just then there was a knock on the door, and another man, this one in a uniform, stepped inside.  Bhunia rose quickly to receive the note handed him.  The Indian man read it, disappointment crossing his features.  He looked up at Jonathan and Hubert.

"Well, you're in the clear.  It seems you're not the men I'm looking for," he said wearily, sitting oleaginously back down in his chair.                                                                                                           

"What were you looking for?" Jonathan asked casually as he stood and stretched.

"An Englishman named Jonathan Carnahan transporting a heavy black book.  But we've searched your luggage, and you've got nothing suspicious."  Bhunia laughed humorlessly.  "We all think this Carnahan character is a myth.  How could he have evaded Imhotep for this long anyway?"

Jonathan hid a smile.

"Look, Dr. Bhunia," Hubert began as the two of them were ushered towards the door.  "If you hear anything about my wife, Danielle, will you please write to my address in Paris?"  He scribbled an address down quickly on a piece of paper.  "Please," he begged tremulously.  "It would mean the world to me."

"Oh alright," Bhunia conceded, taking the slip of paper from them and handing them back their identification papers.

As they walked down the hall, he called after them.  "Good luck finding her, Mr. Belleau!"

***

"I'd have never known," Jonathan said disbelievingly, shaking his head.  "I'd have never known what talent you have for the stage."

Hubert grinned, revealing his perfect white teeth and boyish good looks.  "I always wanted to be an actor," he returned, smiling exuberantly.

They were sitting in a pub on the docks of Calcutta, going over their conversation with Bhunia.  Relieved at escaping unscathed from Bhunia's–and Imhotep's–clutches, both men had headed straight for a place to celebrate.

Jonathan took a swig from his huge beer mug, filled to the brim with amber liquid and white froth.  "Ahhh," he sighed as the taste of the cold drink hit his parched throat.

"You did well yourself, Sir Benedict," Hubert said, giggling slightly, the beer on his empty stomach making him slightly tipsy.

Jonathan smiled.  "Thank you, Mr. Belleau," he joked in Bhunia's heavy accent.  He relaxed into his chair.  "Just think, Huey.  Another two weeks by water and we'll be in Hong Kong." 

"I've never been in China," Hubert commented, the euphoria of their triumph beginning to wear off as they both contemplated the future.

"Me neither, old mum," Jonathan said, patting Hubert's hand.  The younger man smiled, swirling the liquid around in his glass.  

In the silence, Jonathan thought about Evy, her sweet face, her inner strength.  He was helping her in the only way he knew how, and he prayed that it would be enough.  He prayed that the desert warriors were not all dead, that some remained to fight the battle that must be fought.  He prayed that Rick had not lost all hope, that Alex was still the sweet, brave little boy he had known.  But most of all he prayed that Evy was safe, and that, somehow, he could help her.

"Do you really think that we will find the book?" Hubert asked, looking up at the man who had come to be his mentor.

Jonathan paused, considering Hubert's question.  "Yes," he replied honestly, meeting the younger man's hopeful eyes.  He could not have said how he knew, but he knew in his heart and in his bones they were getting closer.  He could feel it, as though the Book of the Dead had its own aura of power, an essence of a force not of this world.

"Every day we get closer to Imhotep's ruin."  Jonathan stared off into space, the Priest's face rising before his consciousness.  His hand tightened around his glass, as the executioner tightens the noose around the condemned.

***

Two days later they set sail on a passenger ship for Hong Kong, a roundabout journey that took nearly three weeks.  Hubert was sea sick most of the time, and Jonathan had never seen any one person expel so much fluid from their mouth.

After finally docking in Hong Kong, they immediately caught a train that would take them straight to their destination–Shanghai.

***

"What a dump," Jonathan commented as he and Hubert lugged their bags up the three flights of stairs to their room.

"I think something smells funny," Hubert grunted.

"Huey, that's the city's garbage disposal," Jonathan joked as he heaved his bag on the third floor landing.

"Right under our window?" Hubert asked as he inserted the key into the lock and jangled it several times.  Finally the lock gave way and the two exhausted men fell into the dingy room.

They had checked into a seedy hotel to stay low profile.  Indeed, there were plenty of cheap and shabby hotels all over the city.  At least, Jonathan thought ironically, not everything had changed.

Hubert collapsed onto the bed.  "This pillow is hard," he mumbled as he curled up into a ball.

Jonathan grunted in assent as he removed his jacket and then fell onto the other double bed, which made an odd creaking noise as his weight made contact with the old springs.

"We have a big day tomorrow, old boy," Jonathan murmured as he began to drift off.  But Hubert was already asleep.

As Jonathan began to nod off, an image of the Book of the Dead filled his mind.  A heavy black volume, covered with dust, sitting silently on the shelf in the antique shop.  How many people picked it up, felt its weight, and wondered what it was?  How many people touched that greatness, the power of that book?  It had been waiting on that shelf, silently waiting to be found, a capsule containing an unspeakable, awesome power...

How did the book get there? Jonathan wondered for the hundredth time.  There would not be an answer, he knew.  There would never be an answer.  The Gods were silent even as they played their hands, even as they rolled their golden dice and changed the world of mortals forever.

***

"This _is_ the address," Jonathan said looking up at the seedy apartment building.  The gray slabs of concrete had large brownish stains along their sides, and the front gate was hanging precariously from one hinge.

Both Jonathan and Hubert had memorized the three addresses where Pierre–Jacques old friend from the service–might be staying.  He had to move around to avoid being found, change his name on different leases, etc.  This was the second apartment building they had been to, and Jonathan wasn't too impressed with Shanghai.

"We must be in the ugly part of town," Hubert commented sardonically.

Jonathan laughed.  "Let's hope this one is it."

Hubert checked for the tenth time that his gun was in its holster.  "We're prepared.  But do you really think we're going to find him?"

Jonathan sighed and shrugged, looking up at the modern monstrosity in front of them.  "Somehow, I think we'll find him.  But I still don't know whether we can trust him."

They opened the gate carefully, moving up the path and opening the metal door.  Stepping inside, they glanced around the gloomy hallway.  Jonathan sneezed, but Hubert was already examining the names on the plaque by the door.  "Du Pont," Hubert whispered excitedly, pointing to the name.  "Gabriel Du Pont," he said again, which was one of the many names Pierre used to stay low profile.

Jonathan's heart skipped a beat.  He couldn't believe it.  After weeks on the trail, they had finally found him.  Pierre.  The man who had the book that could change the course of history.

The two men began to climb the creaky stairs when Jonathan stopped, reservations and fear filling his mind.  "Hubert, you stay here.  If this is a trap, we can't both be caught.  If I'm not back in thirty minutes, leave immediately.  Go to the telegraph office on Jehol street."

Hubert began to protest.  "You have no weapon–"

Jonathan shook his head.  "If we can trust Pierre, I will not need one.  And if this is an elaborate hoax, a trap by Imhotep, then a gun will do me no good anyhow."

Hubert stared at him stubbornly.  "Come and get me as soon as you meet him."

Jonathan smiled tenderly.  Hubert had been through this long journey with him and was just as eager to find the book.  "I will.  But remember.  If something happens to me, it is up to you to contact Jacques and then get yourself out of harm's way."

Hubert nodded.  "I'll be right here."

Jonathan nodded, then swiftly reached over and pulled the boy into his embrace.  After a quick hug the two parted, and Jonathan turned toward the dark staircase.  Where it led–to the darkness or the light–he did not know.

He began to climb.  It seemed to take forever, each step creaking under his weight.  A thousand doubts ran through his head.  What am I doing here? he wondered nervously, silently cursing himself.  You're not Rick O'Connell, stupid.  You're not a hero, he thought, berating himself for even beginning this journey.  You're the sidekick who gets to be scared shitless at times like these.  What am I doing here? he thought, panicking, his palms sweaty.

He began making his way down the hall towards 214, each step towards the door a step towards his doom.  But as he reached the door, the ordinary brown door, a calm flowed through him, a realization that this was his duty.  He had no reason to be scared.  He had been sent on a journey to find Pierre and bring the book back to its home, back to Egypt.  Whatever was on the other side of that door, he could do nothing now.  His fate was sealed.  So Jonathan reached his hand out towards his destiny.

***

Hubert paced anxiously downstairs, wondering if he had done the right thing in letting Jonathan go up alone.  He had truly come to care for the Englishman, and look up to him as almost a surrogate father.

Hubert admired Jonathan because he did not pretend to be a hero.  He did not pretend to be brave, or smarter or more clever or more knowledgeable than most.  He knew he was a simple man who had to save his family.  With both his parents dead, Hubert thought Jonathan's quest was the most honorable a man could have.

He, too, had heard the stories, although Jonathan had never told them himself.  But Hubert knew what Jonathan had done in the past.  And he loved and respected him all the more for accomplishing all that he did as an ordinary man.

***

Jonathan knocked.  Silence.  He could hear his heart beating in the quiet hall.

He knocked again.  More silence.

He reached for the handle, and felt it twist under his hand.  The door swung quietly open.  The hallway of the apartment was dark.

Compelled by some ancient force, Jonathan felt himself moving slowly inside.  One step.  Another.  He was completely in the apartment.  It was dark.  And he was alone.

Suddenly, the door slammed shut, and before he could move Jonathan felt the cold steel of a gun pressed against the back of his neck.  

"Don't move a muscle," a voice said, coming from somewhere in the darkness.  

***


	16. Revelations

**Chapter Sixteen:  Revelations**

***

Evy walked languidly down the ornate hallway.  She knew that in one of these rooms there was extra bedding, she just had to find it.  She ran her hands through her wavy, impossible hair.  There was no hurry to do anything here.  The palace was empty and cold.

She had left Alex to finish making the bed while she found more clean blankets.  The nights were getting cooler as the season pushed further into the autumn.  Pushing open a door Evy poked her head in.  Just a reception room.  Evy sighed.  There was no one around she could even ask.  She would just have to wander around until she found it, in this tomblike palace.

She approached another golden door and pushed it open.  Storage.  As she turned to leave the room she heard a voice behind her.  "What are you looking for?"

Anck-su-namun stood, looking at Evy curiously, but without anger.  "Oh," Evy stammered, surprised to see the Queen standing before her, looking immaculate as always.  "Erm, I was looking for the extra bedding," she stammered out.

"Oh," Anck-su-namun said, relieved.  "This way, follow me."  They walked for a minute in silence, around a bend in the hallway, and down to a gleaming wooden door at the end of the hall.  "In here," she said, motioning inside.

"Thanks," Evy said awkwardly, stepping inside the dark room as Anck-su-namun quickly lit the oil lamps on the walls of the small but warm little room.

Evy looked for a moment in silence through the sheets and pillows.

"I was just thinking," Anck-su-namun said awkwardly.

Evy turned around.  "What?" she asked, startled.

"I was thinking about the old days," she said, with surprising shyness.  It was interesting, Evy thought, that when Anck-su-namun was a mere concubine she was bold and self-confident, but as a Queen she was just the opposite.

"Like what?" Evy asked curiously.

"Just how it was before..." the Queen paused.  "In some ways I miss the bustling, happy palace of the old days."

Evy nodded.  "I always loved running through the busy halls as a child.  It was my playground."

Anck-su-namun nodded and smiled briefly.  "Nefertiri..." she paused.

Evy waited.

"Do you hate me?"

The question was so simple, so direct, Evy was taken completely aback.  She stood there in silence, entirely unsure how to answer.

She thought back over her long, complex relationship with Anck-su-namun.  They had never been friends, they had each hurt each other greatly, and had even at one point been enemies.  But hate?  No.  Evy felt sorry for her more than anything else.

She knew her slavery was not Anck-su-namun's doing.  It was Imhotep's.  It was Imhotep who must be stopped.

"I don't hate you," Evy replied softly.

"It's just..." the former concubine breathed a sigh of relief.  "I never hated you," she admitted.

"Really?" Evy asked, stepping towards her.  "I always thought that you did."

Anck-su-namun shook her head.  "No," she said.  "No, I never hated you.  I was jealous of everything that you had.  The protection of your father, a life that was your own..."

Evy swallowed.  "I never knew."

"I was cruel to you because you had everything I wanted."  Anck-su-namun met Evy's eyes.

Evy shook her head.  "I didn't have everything you wanted.  I was just as much under his control as you were, just in different ways."

Anck-su-namun sighed.  "But you were free, at least in privacy, to see and be with the man you loved.  I never had that privilege."  She sat down on the floor on top of one of the huge cushy comforters.

"What?" Evy asked, puzzled.

"You had your Med Jai.  Do you not remember?" Anck-su-namun asked, looking gently up into Evy's confused face.

"Menmet, I think, was his name," Anck-su-namun continued.  "I spoke to him once.  I remember his kind eyes."

"Menmet," Evy said softly, remembering.  "You spoke to him?  To Rick?" she asked, the memories flooding back. 

"Yes.  He made me a promise that day, the only time I ever spoke to him."

"What promise?" Evy asked, moving to sit on the floor beside the Queen.

Anck-su-namun smiled gently.  "It matters not.  He could not have helped me anyway."

"Helped you how?" Evy asked with interest.

Anck-su-namun looked away.  "It was foolish, I suppose, but that night, the night I died..." she took a shuddering breath.  "When the Med Jai stormed in, he was not there.  I had thought–" she swallowed.  "But he was not there, and I knew it was hopeless."

"I don't understand," Evy began, confused.  "What do you mean–"

"Where was he that night, Nefertiri?" Anck-su-namun asked, drawing Evy's attention away from her question.

Evy tried to remember.  "The night, the night you killed my father..."

Her eyes glazed over as her second self drifted further into the memories.   "That night of blood and horror...I remember...I saw my father dying..." she felt herself drifting back in time, to a clear night, as she stood on the balcony, watching them stab her father..."he was crying out, but there was no on there...my love, Menmet, he was coming to my rooms, he heard my screams..." she could almost feel his warm arms around her waist again..."I jumped, I fell, and his strong arms were around me...he pulled me up, he saved my life."  She spoke with a kind of wonder, an awe at the vividness of the memory.

"That long night, as Ramses directed the Med Jai to find Imhotep, Menmet stayed with me...he held me, I was shaking with fear and anger and sorrow...he held me, he calmed me.  He was there for me.  He saved me from madness with his love."  She shook herself slightly, coming out of the trance, the memory vivid and branded into her heart.

***

_Nefertiri__ awoke just before dawn, her face and eyes dry from crying.  She slowly disentangled herself from him, sitting up on the plush couch.  In the uproar of the previous night, no slaves had closed the curtains or brought them fresh water.  The room was dark and cold, almost as if, in the turmoil, the Princess and the Med Jai had been completely forgotten._

_Nefertiri__ shook out her long wavy hair, enjoying the cool early morning air on her skin.  Would someone remember that they were there?  Was it possible, in the dark night, that she and Menmet had floated quietly away, drifted from the world of men into the world of fantasy and memory?_

_"Love," he said, turning over slightly and placing his hand on her lower back.  He had stayed with her the entire night as she cried herself to sleep._

_She offered him the shadow of a smile.  "Thank you, my love."_

_He shook his head.  "It is nothing.  How do you feel?"_

_She swallowed, unsure, looking slowly around her.  "I don't know.  I feel numb."_

_He sat up completely, drawing her into his arms again.  "I am so sorry for your loss, my Princess.  I will never let anything bad happen to you again."_

_She tried to smile, but it faded into disbelief and sorrow.  "I just cannot believe it.  My father, Imhotep, and Anck-su-namun–all dead in the same night.  And Ramses–he will now be Pharaoh."_

_"Your brother is strong," Menmet replied.  "He will be a good leader."_

_Nefertiri__ shook her head.  "So much life now just...gone."_

_He held her close.  "But you will live.  And I will always be by your side."_

***

"I did live, that much was true."  Evy shook slightly at the next memory as it hit her full force.  "But he was not always by my side."

Anck-su-namun gazed at her, unsure of what was coming next.

Evy's lips twisted in a bitter parody of a smile.  "The next morning Ramses and I were married."

***

_"My sister," Ramses spoke, coming towards where Nefertiri stood, clothed in the robes of a Queen.  He kissed her on both cheeks and took her hands in his own.  "I am sorry I was unable to come to you earlier.  So much has happened.  There were many plans to be made."_

_She gave him a hollow smile.  "I understand, my brother."_

_"I am as devastated as you are," Ramses continued, "but it is my duty to take the crown and restore order immediately.  You of all people will understand why it must be so."_

_The Princess nodded, unable to look him in the eye._

_Ramses__ touched her cheek gently.  "You knew this day would come, sister."  And it was true.  Egyptian royalty always married their own siblings, to keep the royal bloodlines intact.  She had known that this would happen.  But there were so many drastic changes in her life, all at once, she could hardly take it in._

_"I know, my brother.  We will each do our duty."_

_Ramses__ nodded, satisfied.  "The Priest is waiting in the great hall for our presence, to conduct the official ceremony.  Are you ready to become Queen?"_

_Nefertiri__ finally raised her eyes to his own.  "Not as ready as you were to become Pharaoh."_

_He bristled at that.  "Nefertiri, do you really think I am glad our father is dead?  Do you think this is easy for me?  But I must be strong, it is my duty to be strong."  He sighed, wanting her to understand.  "I have been raised, my entire life, for nothing but this moment.  I was born and bred to become Pharaoh after my father.  And so here I am, fulfilling the purpose of my life."_

_She was so tired.  She could not find the words to express her exhaustion, her frustration, her fear, her anger, and her deep and enduring sorrow.  So she merely bowed her head.  "Forgive me, brother, for my harsh words."_

_"You are forgiven."  He took her arm and they began their long walk to the grand hall, where all the Egyptian aristocracy had hurriedly gathered after an early morning summons.  The royal siblings turned down the final hallway, which was filled with Med Jai._

_Every ten feet another stood, straight and tall and unmoving, his hand on his scimitar.  As Ramses and Nefertiri walked they passed many familiar faces.  She searched for Menmet's, but she did not see him._

_"They have failed us," Ramses said coldly as they walked.  "They allowed a great tragedy to occur.  This can not be forgiven."  To Nefertiri every small step was like torture.  This walk to her crown was beginning to feel like a walk of death, her last rites intoned before she was spirited off to the otherworld.  She wobbled slightly.  Was this real?  Was all of this really happening?_

_"I will send most of them to campaign in the East, to prove their loyalty and bravery once again.  The men guarding father last night will be executed, of course."_

_Nefertiri__ forced herself to nod, her vision blurring and her head beginning to ache._

_They stopped at the large golden doors, and two Med Jai slowly pushed them open.  Without looking, the Princess could hear the murmurs of the gathered crowd, could feel their expectant eyes._

_Ramses__ stopped and turned her towards him.  "Sister, I have been told of your little romance with the Med Jai.  I do not expect us to be in love, but you must not be seen with him.  They are now a disgraced people."  He smiled broadly, turning to look into the large golden room, and to the jeweled crown awaiting him._

_"It is time to be married, and fulfill your duty."  Nefertiri lowered her head in submission._

***

"The Pharaoh needed an heir," Evy said, acknowledging her ancient purpose.  

"And so you bore them?" Anck-su-namun asked, trying to picture the grandchildren of the man she hated.

"Yes.  I bore them."  Evy spoke, wonderment filling her voice as she remembered her progeny for the first time.  "My children, my three boys.  All three were boys."   

Anck-su-namun smiled wistfully. "I wish I had been alive to see them."

Evy smiled, an ancient mother's pride at her children shining through.  "Ramses became Pharaoh after his father died.  He was crowned Ramses II."  She smiled again.  "And Sethnakle, my middle child, he was named after his grandfather.  He was the curious, inquisitive one.  Ramses was wild and stubborn, but Seth was intelligent."  Her smile broadened as she lost herself in the fresh memories of her ancient children.  Her smile faded slightly, and her next words were spoken with a surprising sadness.  "I lived a long life.  I lived to be an old woman."

Anck-su-namun lowered her eyes.  She had given up everything for love–her youth, her life, her position of power and privilege.  Despite all that Imhotep strove to give her, all Anck-su-namun wanted was a simple life of love by the side of her man.  She had wanted to grow old beside him, and bear his children.  And she felt irrationally jealous of this woman's life–this woman who had lived, who had grown old, who had died, all in the natural order and laws of the cosmos.

Evy continued, sadness in her voice.  "I outlived you all.  I outlived my father, my mother.  I was a young woman when you and Imhotep died.  I lived to see my sister Dedi die of fever, my other sister Rahankh die in childbed.  I saw my husband–my brother–die of battle wounds.  I lived to see none of my generation survive."  She shook her head.  "I lived too long.  There was no one left.  When I died, there was no one who remembered when we were all young togther, and in love.  There was no one left."  Tears began to spill down her cheeks.

Anck-su-namun moved softly and placed her hand on Evy's, the closest the two women had ever come.

"You did not die alone.  You were honored."

Evy shook her head, the tears sliding down her cheeks.  "Yes I was honored.  I was the queen."  She looked up suddenly, into Anck-su-namun's eyes.  "Just as you are now, I suppose."

Anck-su-namun turned slightly away.

Evy continued, looking at the former concubine.  "I had power and wealth and children."  She took a deep breath.  "But no love.  Not like you.  You have everything now, don't you?  You have wealth and power and the man that you love."

Anck-su-namun pressed her lips together, trying to retain control of her emotions.  "Perhaps in name, Nefertiri."

Evy laughed softly, but without bitterness.  She laughed with a sense of wonder and hopelessness at the unpredictability of the Gods.  "I always thought that you had been punished for your sin of murder.  But now, you have come back, and have everything you were denied in life.  I think perhaps the Gods make a mockery of our pain."

Anck-su-namun shook her head.  "I think the Gods make a mockery of us, but not in the way that you think.  They laugh not at our pain but at our ignorance."

"And how are we ignorant?" Evy asked, tucking her thick brown hair behind her ears.

"We think we know what we want, or what will make us happy.  But we don't, Princess.  We don't."  Anck-su-namun closed her eyes.

"So you thought being Queen would make you happy?" Evy asked softly, gently touching Anck-su-namun's hand.

The Great Wife of the Pharaoh, Mother of the night and of the day, and Queen of the World looked up into the sympathetic eyes of a woman she thought she could never even like.  And she found herself wanting desperately to confess, to confide in her.  Evelyn O'Connell was the only person who remembered how their lives had been.  She was the only person who could understand her.  They had never been friends.  But perhaps that time was over.  Perhaps this was a new beginning, a new history.

"Yes," Anck-su-namun finally admitted.  "But I am so lonely."

And after a thousand lifetimes of strife and pain and anger and hatred, Evy allowed her father's murderer to lay her head against her shoulder.  The cycle was broken, the bridge had been crossed.  The two women–each who had been both a slave and a Queen–offered each other comfort.

***

_Ramses__ smiled at her as she held their second child, little Seth.__  He was only two months old, and little Ramses, now four years old, jumped up and down, trying to get a look at his baby brother._

_"You have done well, my sister, in providing __Egypt__ with heirs," Ramses said affectionately, patting Nefertiri on the head.  "You have given us two beautiful little boys."_

_"I'm not beautiful!" Ramses shouted indignantly, tugging at his mother's dress.  Nefertiri laughed.  It had been five years since the death of her father, and she had mostly adjusted to her new life.  She and Ramses were fond enough of each other.  She was learning to be happy._

_The nurses arrived and took Ramses and Sethnakle away, giving the Pharaoh and the Queen a few moments in private.  He took her arm and they strolled down the corridor together._

_"Do you ever think of what life would be like if father were still alive?" she asked suddenly, halting and looking up into his face._

_"Every day," he responded, and Nefertiri knew her brother had mourned the deaths as much as she._

***

"What happened to Menmet, Nefertiri?" the Queen asked.

Evy looked up, her eyes wide and beautiful.  "I, I don't remember," she began, the painful memories long ago tucked into the recesses of her heart.

Anck-su-namun shook her head, smiling mildly.  "That I do not believe," she said.

Evy allowed herself to float away as she searched the ancient part of her soul.  She allowed herself, her modern self, to dissolve, until she almost became Nefertiri.  And suddenly, as the water rushes from a broken dam, so the memories flooded upon the Princess' consciousness.  And Evy finally allowed herself to remember the most important aspect of her life: her love for her Med Jai, for Rick.  Her enduring love.

"He lived long too, but I hardly ever saw him.  Ramses–" he voice caught.  "Ramses, although he did not love me as anything more than a companion, forbade our relationship.  After all, the Med Jai had failed to protect my father so completely, the tribe were mostly disgraced.  Many were sent on military campaigns in the east."  She took a shuddering breath, and then continued.

"Menmet, I think, could not bear to see me married to another.  We went from that night of love and comfort, with him by my side, to the next morning my marriage to another man.  And not just any man–the Pharaoh, the son of the man his people had, in a sense, betrayed."

"So what happened?" Anck-su-namun asked.

"His sense of duty was so strong, his sense of honor so powerful...he loved his tribe, his people, this land...and he had sworn to protect it.  He could not break that oath, the oath of his people."  Evy wiped away a stray tear.  "And I was a Princess.  I too had my duty to my ancestors.  I was born to produce Egypt's next Pharaoh.  My purpose may sound trivial or meaningless, but that was my duty to my people."

"But did you not consider running away together?" Anck-su-namun asked sympathetically.

Evy nodded.  "Yes.  But I was already married.  And he felt such guilt for what his people had done, and we were both so honorable–too honorable.  We knew that even if we ran off to be together, the betrayal would eat at our souls.  We could never be truly happy."

Anck-su-namun nodded, wondering what life would have been like if Imhotep had succeeded in raising her from the dead.  Could they have been happy, with Seti's murder lying on their souls?

"Menmet requested one military campaign after another, often returning with garlands of victory.  I probably saw him only five times in those first twelve years."  Evy's eyes glistened, consumed with the ancient pain.

She let out a hollow laugh.  "Those wars changed him.  And every time he returned to his homeland I was pregnant or had a child about my legs.  I was not the young woman he had fallen in love with.  I was a mother, I was a Queen, and I too had changed."

Anck-su-namun's eyes glistened, wholly compassionate with Nefertiri's story, a story she had never heard.

"When we spoke it was awkward, strange.  Our lives had become so separate.  And I think he felt so guilty for Seti's death that he could not betray his son by loving his wife.  He was too honorable for that.  He honored my brother as more than a king.  He served him to atone for the sins of his people, their failure.  And it destroyed us."

Evy sighed, pressing her dry lips together.  "He loved me, but he could never stop feeling guilty for that love."  She paused, remembering.  "The last time I saw him he returned for Ramses 14th birthday party.  It was a huge spectacle, my son's entrance into manhood.  Menmet returned, a war hero.  My son practically worshiped him, as boys worship generals with garlands and medals.  And all I could think was that Ramses should have been Menmet's son."  She blew her nose with her handkerchief, using her palm to wipe away another stray tear.

"That last time, we stole a few minutes alone together, but we barely touched.  We were now older, I had silver in my hair.  He had heavy lines about his neck, and a recent scar on his cheek from battle.  I think it was then that we both accepted that we were old, that too much had happened, that we would never be able to love each other openly, as we should have."  She paused again, caught up in her memories.

"He returned to battle, but it was said that he rode straight into the enemy without his sword drawn.  They hacked him to pieces."  She drew a shuddering breath.  "I know because I demanded to see the body when it was brought back."

Anck-su-namun stroked Nefertiri's hand, knowing that the telling would ease the pain.

"He let himself die because there was nothing more to live for.  I had failed him.  His people were disgraced.  And it was ironic that it was only the next spring that Ramses died.  Only those two short seasons later I was a widow."  She bowed her head, exhausted with the telling of her story, a story that spilled forth from her ancient soul, a story she did not even know she knew until it poured from her mouth.

The two sat in silence for a moment, both absorbed completely in the tale.  "So your son was crowned at age fifteen?" Anck-su-namun asked, drawing Evy away from her inner pain.

"Yes, my son was strong and brave.  I helped him, but he truly did not need my help.  He had his grandfather's arrogance in many ways," she said, smiling through her tears.

Anck-su-namun was able to smile too.

"Oh Gods," Evy moaned, leaning her head against Anck-su-namun's shoulder.  "I did my duty to my country, to my homeland, to my ancestors, and to my Gods.  But what did I sacrifice?  Did I make the wrong choice?"

And even Anck-su-namun could not answer that question.

***

_"Do you still love your Med Jai?" Ramses asked, turning towards her._

_Nefertiri__ lowered her eyes, unable to answer him._

_"I will not be angry.  He is a great warrior, and a good man."  He peered into his sister's face.  "My wife, speak to me."_

_"What does it matter if I still love him or not?" she asked bitterly, for the first time betraying her emotion.  "You forbade our relationship, when there was still a chance for us."_

_"You think I acted wrongly?" Ramses asked, surprised.  And Nefertiri understood that although her brother genuinely cared for her, he would never understand her wholly.  And her heart was pierced with a sadness so intense for a moment she could not feel._

_"It matters not, brother," she said, turning slightly away, tears clinging to her dark lashes.  "Everyone, no matter how highly born, must sacrifice to serve." _

_"What do you mean?" Ramses asked, confused._

_She finally met his eyes. "Each person serves a different purpose, but together we form the order of life.  I have accepted my own sacrifice, and my place in the great chain of being."_

_"You truly believe that?" he asked._

_Her eyes probed his own.  "I must believe that, in order to live the life that I do."_

_But perhaps he understood her more than she wanted to admit.  "We all strive to give meaning to our lives, my Queen," he said, reaching for her hand.  "A life without an all-consuming love of a man still has its meaning."  He patted her hand.  "You are the mother of two boys, you are Queen of this great land, you are a symbol of beauty and grace to our people.  And you are my wife."_

_She gave him a half smile.  "And I will have to be content with that, my husband."_

***

"So," Anck-su-namun said, the irony evident in her words.  "We both loved men we couldn't have, and belonged to men we didn't love."

"Yes," Evy replied.  "But my father loved you."  She spoke wistfully, without pain.  Her voice was full of sadness.

Anck-su-namun turned away.  After a moment she spoke, without anger, but with regret.  "He was never unkind to me.  In a way, he treated me like a child, like a toy to be enjoyed."  She shook her head slightly, her long black hair swinging back and forth.

"Do you regret it?" Evy asked in a quiet voice, hardly trusting herself to speak.

Anck-su-namun gave a small smile.  "You mean now that I know what happens?"  She paused, looking down at her hands.  "Maybe I should have settled, the way you did.  Maybe I should have just lived with my situation.  I have brought about so much pain."

Evy bit her lip.  "I am beginning to think that in life there is no absolute right and no wrong," she said honestly.  "Life is complicated, and each of us makes our individual choices.  We must live with our choices, and accept them, for if we do not we should all go mad."

Anck-su-namun's face reflected the shadow of a sad smile.  "Thank you Princess."  She stood, slowly stretching out her limbs.  "It's getting late."

She made to move towards the door, but looking down at Evy, she spoke.  "You, like me, found your love again in this lifetime, and were able to be happy.  Perhaps we suffer in one lifetime to be rewarded in the next."

Evy smiled.  "I would that were true."  Her smile faded.  "I miss Rick so much.  He and Alex are my entire life."  She paused, remembering, her eyes gleaming.  "He held me in his arms as I died."

"When I stabbed you," Anck-su-namun said softly, remembering what Imhotep told her she had done as Meela.

Evy nodded.  "He held me and told me he loved me.  I felt like more than my life was being ripped away.  It was like part of my being was being torn from my soul."

Anck-su-namun bowed her head, hiding her own silent tears.  "When I was about to die in my bedchambers, the Med Jai striding into the room, my love ran from me," she murmured, almost to herself.  She turned to leave.  As she reached the door of the room she turned to Evy, who was still sitting on the floor.

"Your husband is still alive.  He is a slave, one of the many who are building this palace.  I have seen him."

And then she was gone.  But she had given Evy more than hope.

***


	17. Pierre

**Chapter Seventeen: ****Pierre**

***

Jonathan stood motionless in the dark hallway.  He couldn't see or feel anything, except the cold barrel of the gun against his skin.

"Who are you?" the voice drawled in a heavy French accent.

Jonathan hesitated.  It was dark in the room, he had a gun pressed to his neck, and he had no idea who was assaulting him.  It was, all around, a bad situation.

"A friend," he responded.

In response, the voice gave a harsh laugh.  "I doubt you're a friend of mine."

"Look," Jonathan began, "are you Pierre?"

Silence.  Then, slowly, a metallic click, the sound of the hammer of the gun being cocked.

"Maybe.  But you have yet to answer my question.  Who are you?"

Jonathan hesitated.  The man could be a spy for Imhotep.  If he was, and Jonathan revealed his own true identity, he would completely give himself away.  He would be carted off to be a slave in Egypt, or, perhaps, murdered.  Or the owner of the voice could be a madman.  If he was crazy, he might just shoot Jonathan.  End his life.  End the hopes of the people of the world for redemption.  How pointless.  To come all this way, halfway around the world, to die like this.  How goddamn pointless.

Jonathan wanted to weep.

In the dark, he felt a hand against his hip, reaching into his jacket pocket.  Pulling out his passport.

"Benedict Evans, eh?" the man said, and Jonathan could smell his drunken breath.  "An Englishman.  I never liked Englishmen."

"Are you Pierre?" Jonathan said again, desperately hoping to mollify him before the drunken man did something crazy.  Like pull the trigger.

"Who," the man said, his voice dangerously quiet, "wants," he continued softly, "to know?"

"I was sent to collect a valuable artifact from you.  Something that was discovered in an antique shop over a month ago."

Jonathan held his breath.

Suddenly he felt himself being grabbed, lifted off of the floor, moved, and slammed up against the wall.  He gasped for breath, the man's beefy hands pressed against his throat.  He was being crushed like a paper bag.

"How do you know that?" the voice asked, hoarse and, oddly, slightly afraid.

"A man named Jacques sent me," Jonathan gasped.  "From Paris."

Suddenly he felt himself being released, and he crumpled to the ground grabbing his aching throat.  The light flicked on.  He looked up at a great bear of a man, with tousled blond hair and an unshaven face.

"Are you Jonathan Carnahan?" he asked, uncocking his gun and sliding it back into the holster against his hip.

Jonathan could do nothing but nod.

"Why didn't you say so?" the huge man asked, reaching down and pulling up the shocked Englishman.  

"I think," Jonathan said, breathing heavily, "it had something to do with the gun pressed to my neck."

The other man laughed heartily as he held Jonathan's two shoulders to keep him upright.  "I'm Pierre.  I've been looking forward to meeting you."                                   

Jonathan could do nothing but nod.  At least the man wasn't going to kill him.

Pierre grinned.  "Come on.  Let's get you a drink."

A drink?  Jonathan perked up immediately as he stumbled further into the room.  Things were indeed looking up.

***

After retrieving Hubert, the three men sat around Pierre's dingy coffee table, knocking down shots of whiskey and getting pretty damn drunk.

"Eighteen years old," Jonathan observed, holding up the amber bottle to the light.  "Very nice, my newfound friend."

"I only drink the best!" Pierre declared drunkenly, sloshing some more alcohol into his glass.

Hubert sat silently, his hands wrapped around his glass, his eyes tearing slightly as the liquid burned down his throat.  He had been trying to drink along with the two older men, but found himself, instead, experiencing a rather acute pain.

"Don't like your cuppa warmth, Huey?" Jonathan joked, pouring some more into Hubert's mostly full glass.

Hubert only responded with a half smile that was more grimace than anything else.  Jonathan and Pierre laughed together heartily.

"Can't blame the boy," Jonathan continued fondly, ruffling Hubert's hair.  "I," he said, slurring his words only slightly, "can drink anyone under the table.  I am an _expert_ at drinking."

"Re-ally?" Pierre asked, rubbing his unkempt beard.  "I used to say that too," he continued jovially.  But then he stopped, frowning.  "But that was before my wife left me."

There was dead silence in the room.  Suddenly, at the same moment, both men started laughing hysterically.

"Before you're wife left you?" Jonathan gasped out, clapping Pierre on the back, his face turning red.

Pierre could only nod, guffaws spilling out of his mouth.

"My good man," Jonathan began, holding his stomach which was aching from laughter, and raised his glass for a toast.  "It is wonderful to find such good company here in Shanghai–and such good spirits!"

Pierre roared with laughter at Jonathan's little pun, and reached over to refill his glass, which had grown, curiously, empty.

Hubert, quite sober, was amazed at the transformation a little alcohol did to his friend and mentor Jonathan Carnahan.  It was good he didn't like the taste of whiskey, he thought ruefully, for someone in the room should be alert enough to defend the book, if the need arose.  He took off his jacket, balled it up as a pillow, and attempted to sleep on the fluffy chair, amidst the roaring laughter and shouting and clinking classes.  It was amazing, he thought before he fell asleep, exhausted, that two men could make so much noise.

"You haven't tried my Jack Daniels yet," Pierre slurred, stumbling over to his liquor cabinet.

"We drunk that hours ago," Jonathan said, flopping down on the couch and holding his glass above his head, amazed at how the glass looked when the light from the table lamp hit it.  "This is ama-zing," he said slowly, turning his glass this way and that.

"Why, you're drunk!" Pierre exclaimed, shocked, watching Jonathan stare, completely absorbed, at his shot glass.

"My dear sir, I am not drunk!" Jonathan asserted, trying to sit up but only sloshing more alcohol onto his shirt.

"Then try some of this, laddie," Pierre mumbled, breaking the seal on the new bottle of Jack Daniels.  "You know," he said contemplatively, looking at the bottle.  "I knew Jack in the Great war.  But he just couldn't hold his liquor."

Jonathan spit out the gulp he had just taken, laughing uproariously.  This had to be the funniest man he had ever met.

Pierre was drunk, and he was enjoying being drunk, he thought admiringly, just before he passed out on the couch.  The two of them, he was sure, were going to get on famously.

***

"What do you mean you're not going to give us the book?" Jonathan asked incredulously, holding an ice pack to his throbbing head.

It was the morning after their little party, and Pierre was proving to be quite a handful.

The Frenchmen paced towards Jonathan, his tousled blond hair, athletic strides, and straightforward manner oddly reminiscent of Rick.  "I'm not ready to place the book into your hands," he declared, staring back at Jonathan.

The Englishman gaped openmouthed at him, finally succumbing to the first thought that popped into his head.  "How do you not have a hangover?"

Pierre shrugged.  "I've built up a resistance.  It's all about habit, you know."

"Ah," Jonathan replied amiably.  Then he seemed to shake himself from his headache.  "Wait a minute," he protested.  "We came all the way from Paris, dodging Imhotep's spies and police, risking our very lives, and you're not going to give us the book?"

"And I held onto it for over a month, concealing and protecting it from Imhotep's minions," Pierre shot back.  "Besides, I don't know if I can trust you."

"Trust?" Jonathan asked incredulously.  "Jacques sent me, you must know–"

"Yes, yes," Pierre interrupted impatiently.  "You're Jonathan Carnahan, one of the heroes who stopped Imhotep before.  I've heard the fairy tale already, thank you."

Jonathan stood up, wobbling only slightly.  "Fairy tale?" he asked indignantly.  "My good sir, the story of our past with Imhotep is not fit for children in the least!"  He stopped, thinking over his last statement.  Then, shaking his head in disgust at his own inane comment, he continued.  "And anyway, the stories are true!  How dare you suggest it didn't happen?"

"Well," Pierre commented dryly, "you don't exactly seem like the type to save the world."

"Wait a minute," Hubert interjected from his seat on the couch, standing up between the two men.  He turned to Pierre.  "How do we even know that you have the book?  You could just be lying and wasting our time."

Pierre turned, incensed, to the younger man.  "I have the book, don't you worry about that."

"Prove it," Jonathan said irately.

Pierre looked at him long and hard.  "Fine.  I'll show it to you."  He turned and walked briskly towards the door, where he rechecked the three locks.  Then he walked towards the windows, where he lowered the shades, until the room was almost in complete darkness, save the small table lamp still lit from the night before.

Finally, Pierre turned towards Jonathan again.  He seemed slightly less confident, a bit out of his element.  And it occurred to Jonathan that despite his bluster, Pierre understood the power of the Book of the Dead.  And he was, as he should have been, afraid.

"I'm prepared to show it to you.  But prove to me that you have seen it before.  Prove to me that you held it in your hands."  Pierre looked at the Englishman expectantly, but with a note of fear, a note of uncertainty.

An ironic smile passed over Jonathan's face.  "It was the Book of the Living I held in my hands," he said softly, "not the Book of the Dead." 

There was silence in the room.  Jonathan sighed, and tried to explain what it was like to hold an object not of this world.  "There are no human words to describe what cannot be described," he began, remembering as he held the Golden Book, trying to read from it to control the mummies and save Rick and Evy.  "Holding the book is like...holding a ticking bomb.  You can feel the power.  It seeps into your skin, into your being.  It makes you feel as though you could almost be a God, but at the same time you are wholly human, wholly vulnerable.  And you know deep down, that if you try to control it, the powers of the Book will defy you.  The powers in that book do not comply with human wishes, but only with the wishes of the Gods.  That much I know."

Silence consumed the room.  Jonathan dared to look up and meet Pierre's eyes.  They glistened in the dim light.

Pierre's voice broke the hesitant silence, the sounds harsh and scratchy.  "I'll get it.  Wait here."

Jonathan sat back down on the couch, exhaustion seeping through his body.  They had come so far.  And he was so tired.

He sat with Hubert in the silence.  They could hear the sounds of a safe clicking open.  Pierre returned, holding the book awkwardly in his arms.  He handed it to Jonathan, almost as if he were glad to be rid of it.  "You asked for it," he said.

The book lay heavy in his arms.  Jonathan closed his eyes and ran his hands over the familiar designs.  He could have drawn those images in his sleep.  His forefinger ran lightly over the winged scarab.  He opened his eyes, hardly believing that he was finally holding it. 

Here, in a shabby apartment in Shanghai, was the potential power that could end the reign of a dictator.  Of an absolute ruler.  Could shift the power balance of the world.  If he had not seen and done all that he had in his short life, Jonathan would not have believed it.

He knew his eyes were wet, but he did not care.  "This is it," he said, to no one in particular.  "This is the turning point.  Now we have the advantage."

Pierre turned and leaned up against the desk, facing Jonathan from across the room.  He crossed his arms across his broad chest.  "I'm not an expert on Egyptian curses and whatnot, but try to explain your plan to me."

Jonathan smiled ruefully, shifting the weight of the book in his arms.  "I don't have a plan yet."

"So," Pierre began sarcastically.  "You're going to waltz into Egypt with the book and do what?"

"We're going to find the remaining Med Jai.  They are the keepers of the ancient knowledge."

"So you're going to rely on some ancient warriors, who are probably all dead, to figure out your plan?"  Pierre asked incredulously.

"Do you have a better plan, Frenchy?" Jonathan exclaimed, standing up again, allowing the book to slide onto the couch.

Pierre gazed back at him, trying to control his anger.  "No.  But I wouldn't want to traipse around Egypt with a book that Imhotep wants without, at least, a decent plan."

"No one's asking you to traipse around anywhere," Jonathan argued pointedly.  "Give us the book and let us do the dangerous part."

"Are you suggesting that I am afraid?" Pierre asked, shocked.

The two older men glared at each other from across the room.

"The English," Pierre muttered disgustedly.

"Hey!" Jonathan exclaimed.

"No, no," Hubert interjected hurriedly, trying to placate them.  "No once is suggesting that you are afraid.  But it is not your duty to make that risk.  It is our responsibility, not yours, to transport the book back to Egypt."

"So after all I've done you want me to just give the book up to strangers?"  Pierre asked, staring from Jonathan to Hubert and then back again.  "Do you know what I went through to get this thing?" he asked, pointing to where the book lay innocently on the sofa.  "The shop owner wasn't that eager to sell it.  I had to use some," he coughed, "er, tools of persuasion."

If Jonathan weren't so indignant, he would have smiled.  Pierre was indeed similar in many ways to his brash American brother-in-law.

"Look," Jonathan started again more calmly.  "Right now we have no other options.  Nothing else has been known to stop Imhotep.  We must bring the book to Egypt and find the Med Jai.  You understand that much, do you not?"

"I understand that in theory," Pierre replied, gesturing wildly with his hands.  "But think of the reality.  I am a soldier.  I think in realistic terms because I have to.  How are you physically going to transport the book into Egypt?"

Jonathan did not answer.  He didn't have an answer, at least not yet.

"I am a patriot," Pierre continued.  "I fought for my country.  I love my country.  And I would do anything to murder Imhotep with my own bare hands."  He paused again, running his fingers through his dirty blond hair.  When he spoke again, his voice was husky, his words tinged with anger and hopelessness and sorrow.  "You know, I saw an entire army swept into the sea.  The Priest raised his hands, and washed away a million soldiers.  A million soldiers, drowning without even a chance to defend themselves."

He shuddered, turning to face Jonathan.  "I am sure that I do not have to explain to you his powers.  But understand this: I know how powerless against him I am.  I accept that.  And I know that the Priest is smart and ruthless.  And so I won't let the two of you dance the tango into Egypt without a shred of a plan, probably give yourselves away, and let the book fall back into Imhotep's hands."

Jonathan sighed.  "Pierre, we may not have a brilliant plan, but we'll think of one."  He paused, gesturing emphatically.  "Plan or no, we have to take this chance.  The longer we wait, the more difficult our task becomes.  And if we never try, then we will never have any weapon against him."  He hesitated.  "We will think up a good plan.  Trust us."  

He waited, as Pierre thought over his words.  But the Frenchman slowly shook his head.

Jonathan glowered.  "I will not just stand here and allow you to stop us, after we have come so far."

"I will not give up the book," Pierre stated firmly.

"The book is useless to you.  You can't even open it!" Jonathan cried exasperatedly.

"As if you can," Pierre shot back.  He sighed, turning away from them, looking down at the shotglass resting on his tabletop from the night before.  

When he spoke again, it was calmer, softer, with a haunting ring of truth.  "Even if we kill Imhotep, do you truly believe that another will not rise to take his place?  In this shattered world, you really think the people will cry for democracy and freedom?"  He turned back to Hubert and Jonathan, gently shaking his head.  "No.  People are animals.  They will cry for order, for a strong leader to make them forget the horror of their past.  But they will just be trading fire for fire."

He straightened.  "As much as I want to crush Imhotep, do you really believe killing him will make the world a better place?"

Jonathan moved towards him.  "We must believe that, or we will all go crazy."  He patted his shoulder.  "You do not truly believe that.  You are like my brother in law, Rick O'Connell.  Surely you have heard the tales about him?"

Pierre nodded.

Jonathan continued.  "He will fight forever against evil.  He will pretend it is because of his family, or because of revenge.  But that is not the reason, old boy.  My brother fights because it is in his blood, because he must fight for freedom or he is nothing at all.  You are like him.  I can see it," Jonathan said earnestly.  "You, too, will always fight for freedom."

Pierre appeared immobile.

"Look," Jonathan said, moving to stand directly in front of the Frenchman.  "This book is our only chance.  Our last chance.  Without it, Imhotep will rule forever.  You say you hate him.  That you love your country.  Then this is your chance to defeat him once and for all."  He stopped to breathe, looking to Pierre's eyes.  "Let us take our shot.  Please."

Pierre's mouth opened slightly, and he looked down at the floor, then back up to Jonathan.  The two men locked eyes, silently assessing each other.  Jonathan waited.  The fighting spirit slowly returned to Pierre's eyes.

"Fine," he said firmly.  "But I'm coming with you."

Jonathan smiled.   "Deal."

The two men shook hands.

***

Note: I should thank Angel Ruse (formerly Nine) for continuing to inspire me through her story "Who We Once Were."  The line "they will just be trading fire for fire" was taken almost directly from that story.  And, as always, thanks to my most consistent reviewers–Aulizia, MBooker, and Eviefan...you guys inspire me to work hard.  You rock.  Thanks again ;-) –Marxbros

***


	18. Revelations part two

**Chapter Eighteen: Revelations part two**

***

_"Menmet," the voice called._

_He stopped in his tracks.  "I would speak with you," Ardeth said pointedly._

_Menmet sighed.  He could not refuse the request of the leader of his tribe, even if he was his best friend._

_He stepped into Ardeth's tent, waiting expectantly._

_Silence.  Suddenly, Ardeth exploded.  "What do you think you are doing?"_

_Menmet was taken aback.  "What?" he asked.  "What are you talking about?"_

_Ardeth gave him an exasperated look.  "You know exactly what I'm talking about."_

_"If you're talking about the Princess I can assure you that–"_

_"I can assure you that it will end badly," Ardeth interrupted.  Menmet opened his mouth as though to counter his friend's claim, but Ardeth walked over and placed his hands on Menmet's shoulders, silencing him.  "We have been best friends since we ran about this camp as boys, playing with wooden swords," he began, searching his friend's eyes.  "I say this not as leader of the Med Jai but as your friend.  However much you love each other, you can never marry.  And it will just hurt both of you further."_

_Menmet stepped back.  "Everything you say I already know.  I know that we cannot marry, I know that she will probably marry Ramses herself.  But I have no choice!"_

_Ardeth shook his head.  "You always have a choice, my brother."_

_"Then you have never been truly in love, my friend," Menmet replied.  He paced around the small tent.  "Ardeth," he began, trying to explain.  "I think about her every moment of every day.  I dream about her.  It is torture not being able to touch her."_

_"You are in love," Ardeth said, "but you must come back to your senses.  If Seti found out–or Ramses–you could be banished or even killed.  And I could not live with myself if that happened."_

_Menmet sighed.  "You think I want to die?" he asked pointedly.  Ardeth shook his head._

_"If we truly cannot ever be together, then this is all the time we have.  A few months, maybe a year, before she is married.  For a lifetime of love, all we are given are these few moments.  And you would ask me to give them up?"_

_"You sound like a poet," he commented dryly._

_Menmet nodded, a shadow of a smile playing across his features.  "She has made a desert warrior a poet," he said softly, acknowledging her power over him.  "She makes me a better person, Ardeth."_

_His old friend nodded, sighing, understanding his friend's passionate and stubborn nature.  "Then go to her in peace, brother.  But know that when the time comes, you must give her up and do your duty to your people."_

_Menmet lowered his head.  "My duty to my people is the only thing that stops me from taking her and running away from this place forever."_

_The two men locked eyes.  And in Menmet's searingly blue eyes, for a brief moment, Ardeth saw a glimpse of the future.  Whether it was this life or another they would live together, he did not know.  But in those familiar eyes, eyes he would recognize in any lifetime, Ardeth saw only pain, and loss, and death._

***

Rick sat up abruptly, shaking his head as he tried to clear the dream from his mind.

That was the third dream this week.  He had been having these visions for over a month now.

Up to this point, they had all been of Evy–Nefertiri, he corrected himself.  This was the first time he had seen anyone but his love.  But all the visions were from the same lifetime, his past life as a Med Jai.  Rick was sure of it.

His memories of another lifetime were returning to him, claiming their rightful place next to his heart.  

His memories of Evy–Nefertiri–were almost always the same.  They were in a dark hallway, an empty guest chamber, a hidden section of the palace gardens.  It was the beginning of their love, before the death of her father.  It was a joyous and simple time.  Those memories were pleasurable, and for Rick, in many ways, inspiring.  Their pure and honest love from the past gave him hope for the future.

But this was why his new memory of Ardeth startled him so.  It was the first discordant note in his otherwise harmonious memories.  What came later? he wondered.  What happened to us after the death of her father?

He stretched his sore muscles, leaned forward to stretch out his back.  His bronze skin gleamed softly in the dim light as he tried to make out what time it was.  The air was cool against his flesh, and he decided that it must be right before dawn.  The sky was a rich cobalt blue, the color it becomes just before the sun breaks the horizon line.

As the men around him began to turn and slowly shake themselves awake, Rick sat silently, as ancient feelings washed over him, as vivid in that moment as they had been three millennia ago.  In his mind he once again saw Evy–except that it was not Evy, it was the darker, younger woman he had loved long ago.  She had been borne of royalty, she came from another time and went by another name.  But it was Evy.  His soul recognized hers, recognized the essence of the woman he loved.  He allowed himself, in the rising light, to drift again into memory...

***

_"Menmet," the soft voice whispered out of the darkness, and the Med Jai had to squint his eyes to make out her form in the dim light._

_"Nefertiri?" he questioned, even as she grabbed his arm and pulled him into the small room.  Once inside, she lit two small candles, and the flickering light danced across the planes of her delicate features._

_"What is this place?" he wondered, taking her small hands in his own rough ones._

_"My serving woman sleeps here, but she told me no one ever comes here after dusk.  She will not be back for hours."_

_He looked at her, concern showing in his dark blue eyes.  "Can she be trusted with our secret?"_

_Nefertiri smiled impishly, leaning towards him.  "I trust her.  Will you trust my judgement, Med Jai?"_

_He smiled down at her, his heart melting into a puddle before her eyes.  "I suppose I will have to, Princess."_

_She smiled again, but the mirth was gone, replaced with desire, with longing, and a true vulnerability.  "I love you," she said, looking up into his eyes, deep and bottomless as a reflecting pool._

_His throat tightened, looking down at this woman who, against all reason, had dared to love him.  He raised his hand and brought it down slowly on her shiny hair, black as the night that surrounded them in its intimate embrace._

_"And I love you.  Forever."_

***

"Get going!" the oozing mummy ordered, cracking his whip against the wooden door of the barracks.  Rick sighed, coming out of the vision, the vivid image fading away into dawn before his tired eyes.  The men hastily finished dressing, shuffling quickly outside into the early morning.  Rick forced the memories from his mind.  He would think upon them later.  Now it was time to work.

***

That night, after Anjelica had made her way over to the men's section of the camp, Rick told her about the most recent of the dreams, the one involving Ardeth.  She believed him unconditionally, and had listened, fascinated, these last few weeks as he had begun describing his former lifetime.

Tonight, as Rick finished describing his latest vision, she gave a low whistle.

"It seems that your past is becoming more complicated," she offered, with a wry twist of her lips.

He nodded, giving her a half smile that did not reach his eyes, a look of exhaustion and uncertainty.  "I had never seen Ardeth before.  When he told me that we were brothers in spirit, I did not believe him."  Rick glanced down at the tattoo on his wrist, the black depiction of the two kings and the pyramid perfect in their symmetry.  He gently rubbed his thumb over the indelible image, as though to make sure it would not rub off under his touch.  "But we were indeed Med Jai in the past.  We were best friends, as close as brothers."

Anjelica nodded, allowing Rick his time to come to terms with this new information.

"But why now?" he asked, looking up into his friend's warm brown eyes.  "I am 36 years old.  I have faced Imhotep twice before.  Twice I have fought with him, twice I have sent him back to his grave.  And not once have I had an inking of my previous life."

He searched her eyes for the answer.

She only looked back at him, thinking, massaging her lower lip with her teeth.

"I have never remembered who I was.  Even when Evy had her visions, I felt no connection to her ancient past."  He paused again, looking out into the vast expanse of sand, a dark ocean of rolling dunes that stretched forever into the night.  "Why, suddenly, now, are these memories coming back?"

The two sat in companionable silence, each thinking over Rick's question, the problem that had been plaguing him since the visions had begun, imbuing themselves into his mind, as some part of his inner soul forced him to remember who he had been.

Anjelica tilted her head, looking back at Rick, as a thought struck her.  "You said that Evy was raised from the dead by your son?"

Rick nodded impatiently, knowing that she already knew this part of the story.

She hesitantly continued.  "And she saved her brother's life by fighting Anck-su-namun in the ancient way?"

Rick nodded slowly.  "They fought in the ancient style, with the same weapons they had fought with as teacher and pupil, as concubine and Princess."

Anjelica paused, thinking, chewing a strand of her brown hair as she furrowed her brow in concentration.  "Perhaps Evy began having visions, remembering her past, because she needed to.  She needed to remember how she had fought Anck-su-namun in the past so that she could do it again, in the present, when it mattered."

"You're right," he slowly breathed.  "Remembering the past helped us to defeat Imhotep last time.  Perhaps these memories will give me the clues I need to defeat him once again."

Anjelica leaned forward, her eyes shining with discovery and hope.  "The Gods have given you your memories back," she whispered, her eyes full of wonder as she searched the face of her friend.  "Don't you see, Rick?   Soon, you will be needed.  You will be called upon to fight the Priest again.  You are being prepared for your role in his downfall."

If Rick had not seen and done all he had in his relatively short life, he would not have believed her.  But her words rang true.  Deep in his heart, in his soul, he knew she was right.

His question was answered.  Times were changing.  Soon, he would be needed.  And to defeat Imhotep, he needed to know the truth about himself.  He needed to remember who he had been.

As he stood to return to the barracks to get some sleep, a whisper in the breeze, in the gentle wind that caressed his sun burnt skin, made him pause.  The words that floated past his ears were words directly from the book, the black book that should have been gone from the world forever.  They whispered to him truth..._The gods hide behind the veil of nothingness, listening.  Though they hear men call in their troubles, they come not; yet silent, beyond the veil their shining fingers move, weaving the cloth of destinies.  Even great gods are bound by law not to interfere with a man's own becoming..._

And Rick understood.

They had given him the instruments for victory.  But the fate of the world, the fate of himself and his family–triumph or defeat–was in his hands.

***

Later that night, as he readied himself for sleep, Rick sighed.  He lay back down on his "bed," which was nothing more than some straw over a stone slab, trying to make himself comfortable.  But even as he lay down, he could feel himself drifting into trance, the memories awaiting him like spirits in the dark.

He sagged, allowing them to float unhindered into his consciousness.  What new revelations will this one bring? he thought wryly to himself, just before the memory took hold of him, a living thing, angry and potent, ready to be useful to its master once more.

***

_Anck-su-namun sat, curled up on the ledge overlooking the palace gardens.  Her gauze wrap floated gently about her firm body, her dark hair gleamed against her coppery skin._

_Menmet walked quickly towards the gardens, eagerly awaiting his few moments each day with the Princess, his love.  Passing Anck-su-namun, he stopped, bowing his head and giving her the customary greeting.  "Lady," he said, bowing quickly._

_Anck-su-namun turned towards him with a wistful smile.  "I have seen you with her, Med Jai."_

_Menmet froze.  She was Seti's creature, a concubine, and it was no secret that she and the Princess were not friends._

_"From right here?" he asked, distress creeping into his voice.  They had been so careful to hide their love!_

_She smiled gently.  "Yes.  But I will guard your secret well, Med Jai."_

_He breathed a sigh of relief.  "Why?" he asked bluntly._

_She sighed and turned away, looking out into the gardens.  "She awaits you now, sitting by the pool."  She sighed, jealousy entering her voice.  "You are lucky, warrior."_

_Menmet moved towards Seti's favorite concubine, a woman he had hardly ever looked at, least of all spoken to.  She was off-limits to all men, and he was in love.  But suddenly he wondered about her as a person, as he had never before._

_"Lucky?" he asked doubtfully, leaning up against the wall, a mere three feet from her.  "We see each other for only a few minutes a day.  And if we are caught, I could be stripped of my title, banished from my people and my home, even killed."_

_"A few minutes a day is a blessing," she responded, looking down at Nefertiri, awaiting him below, ignorant of the conversation just twenty feet above her.  "Count yourself lucky Med Jai, and remember this: there may come a time when our aims are the same."_

_He frowned.  "What do you mean?"_

_She smiled, a smile of hidden secrets.  "I am no fortune teller.  But there may come a time when you will hate Seti as much as I."_

_He stared at her, shocked she would utter such blasphemy to him.  "How can you speak such?" he said, aghast._

_She spoke sharply, for the first time.  "Do not act so surprised.  Do you too look down on me Med Jai?  See me as nothing but a common whore?"_

_He looked away, silently admitting to her accusation.  "Not common, my lady."_

_At that she gave a mirthless laugh.  "Yes, uncommon.  My beauty is my curse."  She paused, looking him deep into his eyes.  "I am indeed his whore.  There is no other word for my life.  But you give you and your people fancy names for the same truth."_

_"What do you mean?" he asked agitatedly moving towards her._

_"We are both his whores.  We both serve his depraved whims for wealth and power.  Is it not true, Med Jai?"_

_Menmet took a step back, shocked at her accusation.  "We are doing our duty to protect the upper and lower kingdoms.  Without our protection, there would be no stability in the empire.  Pharaohs would come and go as flowers in the wind.  Do you not understand?"_

_Anck-su-namun considered his words.  "So one Pharaoh is the same as another?"_

_"To us, yes," he replied._

_She gave him a small smile.  "Forgive my blasphemy, Med Jai.  You are pure of heart.  You truly believe what you say."  She paused.  "I take you into my confidence because I know you will not betray me.  I know your secret, so you can be trusted with mine."_

_He took another step back.  "I know not what you are suggesting, Lady."_

_She laughed.  "Do not be so naive!  It is only this.  A time may come when I am your enemy, as much as you are now my friend.  A time may come when you will be forced to kill me, as much as you are now supposed to protect my life."_

_"If you obey your Pharaoh then that day shall never come," Menmet said, trying to reason with her._

_She smiled sadly.  "A day will come when that will not be possible.  I do not know when or how, warrior, but I will not live like this forever.  So hear me now.  In return for my secrecy, you will make me a promise."_

_He shifted his weight, unwilling to give his word so easily.  "What promise?"_

_"Only this: that when that day comes that I speak of, you will treat me and my beloved with mercy.  That is all I ask."_

_He looked at her closely.  "Mercy comes in many forms."_

_She smiled.  "Yes, I know.  But remember this promise Med Jai, as you go to your lover.  And when that day comes, when you learn of my story, remember the happiness you had in Nefertiri's arms, and the desperation you faced at being torn from her.  And when you remember that, you will too remember this promise.  And you will be merciful."_

_"As much as I can," he said, bowing to her words._

_She nodded.  "So swear on the memory of your ancestors, Med Jai, those who you worship as if they were Gods."_

_He swore before her._

_She gave him a sad smile.  "You see Med Jai, I am doomed.  Go to your love.  And be happy."_

_He looked up at her.  "I feel as though you have blessed me."_

_She looked at him.  "I suppose in my own way, I have.  But you have found your love.  You have already been duly blessed."_

_He bowed his head to her.  And without another word, he walked away, to Nefertiri, to hold her in his arms._

_***_

Rick shook himself free of the memory, which seemed to grasp at him physically with bony fingers. 

He recovered from the dream, his main reaction simple surprise.  He had never imagined that he had some kind of connection to the woman he had known only with hate, the woman who had killed his wife.  But perhaps, as they all were, she had been different in her previous life. 

"I promised Anck-su-namun mercy," he murmured to himself, recalling the bizarre content of their ancient conversation.

And that revelation loosened the dam of history, and a flood of memories poured over Rick.  A lifetime of love and loss and pain and death washed over him, the legion of memories clamoring for attention, all throwing themselves into his consciousness.  He saw his former life flash before his eyes in a matter of moments.

The images of times long past flooded his mind, one after the other, each following the previous one in quick succession.  They changed as quickly as they had come, each unique, each revealing another aspect of the life he had yet to fully remember.

He saw himself, as a young boy, running through the camp, staring in awe as the warriors–his father included–prepared for battle.  Then, himself again, but he was older, no longer a boy.  He was learning to use a scimitar, to move the blade crisply through the air, to slice it downwards so that it could kill a man.  He saw himself and Ardeth laughing together, confiding in each other, Ardeth who was the son of the Med Jai leader.  They both knew that he would be chieftain someday.  But that did not matter.  First and foremost they were best friends, they were brothers.

Then time shifted, and he saw Nefertiri, as he had many times before, smiling at him from across a crowded banquet hall, when their relationship was nothing more than flirtation and possibility.  He sensed that he was older, that he carried his weapon now with precision and grace, that he now rode with the warriors he once admired from afar.  He saw Nefertiri holding his hands, caressing his cheek, pressing her soft lips to his in her innocent desire, in her selfless love.

Then the colors melted and dissolved, and he was looking at Anck-su-namun, Seti's mistress, sitting on the balcony.  That had been the first–and last–time he had ever spoken to her.  And suddenly the high Priest Imhotep was there, and Rick was shocked to feel the benevolence in the ancient emotions.  He felt respect, and admiration, and an awe for the Priest's skill in healing.  What happened to the old Imhotep? Rick wondered.  Who is the Imhotep who I know in this lifetime?  But the memories seized control of his mind once again, wrenching away his thoughts and plunging him into the cold depths of ancient memory.

Vision recoiled, then expanded again, as he saw his Princess cry out as she threw herself over her balcony.  He watched as he pulled her to safety, as they held each other, each mourning, consumed in their own internal pain.  Hers was borne of loss, for the death of a man she loved.  His was borne from failure, the knowledge that his brothers had failed utterly in protecting the Pharaoh, the god's messenger on earth.

That image dropped suddenly away, and once again, the visions changed course, and the memories pressed close to Rick, hot and oppressive.  Now, many years had passed, and he saw before him a great army.  But it was not the army of Ramses, but the army of another, a challenger to the power of Egypt.  He saw himself fight with reckless abandon, knowing that he did not care if he lived or died.

Time once again shifted, and he was again at the palace in Thebes.  Ramses was placing a medal of honor about his neck, for glory and honor in battle.  Nefertiri was next to her brother, and below her were the children, the two young boys who should have been his own.  As he bowed and thanked his Pharaoh, he met Nefertiri's eyes.  Time stopped, the memory stilled, captured as a silent photograph, and the look that crossed her eyes seared into his soul.  Her look was one of unmatched pride, ceaseless yearning, and, ultimately, an enduring sorrow.

And then came his final memories: his last battle, the army yelling and baying for blood all around him.  The last charge through the desert, horses kicking up sand, men shouting and drawing their swords and preparing to fight to the death.

He had never felt more calm, more sure of what he wanted to do.  He took his hand, gently, from the hilt of his scimitar, placing both hands in the wild mane of his mount.  The feel of the wind rushing through his hair, the horse galloping, its elegant muscles straining beneath him–he had never felt more free.  He would finally be free of the pain of this life: the utter loss, futile anger, and ceaseless suffering.

And then the memory of his last moment came to him, as he saw the nameless man charge toward him, the man who would take his life.  He had no name and no face, and in the end, it did not matter.  He was the enemy, the savage warrior.  But in the twisted tapestry of their lives this man also became an avenging angel, a bringer of mercy, the promise of a quick and painless death.  

As the man's sword, curved and glistening in the morning light, began to take his life, Rick–or was it Menmet?–or was it some other entity, encompassing both?–thought of Nefertiri.  Her face rose in his mind, but behind the familiar visage he saw other faces, similar but each distinct, the faces of the other women she would become.  As the blade entered his flesh, his last thought seared through his mind..._I will recognize you again, I will find you, my love...someday..._

***

Finally, the ancient memories loosened their grip, and Rick shook free, falling back exhausted onto the straw.  He sighed, forcing his body to relax, the grip of the past slackening, its hold on his mind and soul lessening with each passing moment.

Now he understood why he had always felt guilty when he was in Nefertiri's arms, why they had been unable to stay together, to be lovers even after she married.  Every time he held her he remembered the fate of Anck-su-namun and Imhotep–who had loved each other with such intensity they had dared to spit in the faces of the gods.  Everytime he held Nefertiri he remembered how Anck-su-namun had sent him into her arms, to have what she could not, and would never, have.

So he had promised Imhotep and Anck-su-namun mercy and had not been able to deliver on his sworn words.  He had played no part in Imhotep's punishment–he had stayed at the palace with Nefertiri while his brothers–led by Ardeth–laid the eternal curses upon the Priest's soul.  So while he had played no role in their damnation, he had not stepped forward to give them whatever respite he could.

Would the consequences of his promise be exacted from him in this lifetime?  He did not yet know.

It had been a long day, and the rush of ancient memories had overwhelmed him, exhausted his mortal body.  Eager to sleep away his weariness, Rick laid his head on his upper arm.  Sleep usually came easily here, and tonight was no exception.  Rick's eyelids closed, lowering heavily over his raw eyes.  Sleep was his respite, where he could forget the pain of his daily life, his loss and anger and frustration and fear.

But even in sleep he was plagued.  For in sleep came more disjointed dreams, and glimpses of the past, and half formed memories.

***

_Menmet entered the hallway just as Imhotep emerged from one of the huge reception rooms.  Two slaves closed the great golden doors as Imhotep strode towards him._

_"Med Jai," he was greeted unceremoniously._

_"High Priest," Menmet responded.  Although he respected Imhotep and his work in the temple, there was always something a little sinister about him.  Menmet shrugged it off._

_"Will you be at the feast tonight?" Imhotep asked carelessly, straightening his black robe._

_"I believe so," he began, but as he spoke he heard chattering voices down the hall.  Both men turned to see Nefertiri and her hand maidens appear, swathed in white and gold._

_Nefertiri glided up to the two men.  "High Priest," she said nodding to him, a friendly smile on her face.  But when she turned to Menmet, she could not help herself from smiling a more intimate, personal smile.  "Med Jai," she greeted, before tearing her eyes away.  "I shall see you both tonight, shall I not?" she asked, returning her gaze to Imhotep._

_The Priest put his arm across her shoulders in a fatherly way.  "Of course, my lady," he teased her.  And for a moment, time seemed to stop and blur, and Menmet once again saw Imhotep and Nefertiri in front of him.  His hands were on her, but they seemed to be holding her in a cold, possessive embrace.  And her hair was different: long and brown and wavy.  But the biggest change was her eyes.  She was afraid._

_But the vision blurred again, and he was once again facing Imhotep and Nefertiri, looking as they always had.  What had he seen? Menmet wondered._

_She shrugged his arm off, still smiling.  "Goodbye then, Imhotep, Med Jai."  She gave a motion to her maidens, and the group of women floated away, leaving only the scent of their perfume lingering in the air of the hall._

_"You love her," Imhotep said slowly, looking Menmet in the eyes._

_"What?" he asked, truly surprised._

_"I can see it in the way you look at her," the Priest responded.  He smiled to himself, some secret amusement, some hidden, ultimate irony._

_Menmet covered his face in his hands.  "Oh," he exclaimed, almost to himself.  "We have tried so hard to hide it!  But it appears that we are pure failures at deception."_

_Imhotep laughed.  Menmet looked up in surprise, having never heard the Priest truly laugh before._

_"We do not all excel at deception, Med Jai, nor at fulfilling our duty."_

_"What do you mean?" he asked, puzzled._

_"Just remember that we cannot always do what we wish, we cannot always act as our rational selves counsel."_

_Menmet stopped, staring at him.  He understood now.  "So that's what she was talking about," he murmured.  "Anck-su-namun was talking about you."_

_"What?" Imhotep asked, the fear and surprise in his voice betraying his outward calm.  "What do you mean?"_

_"You two are in love," Menmet said quietly, all of the pieces fitting together._

_"How do you know?" Imhotep asked desperately._

_Menmet's smile was laced with a combination of sadness and understanding.  "I could see it on your face the moment I mentioned her name."_

_Imhotep's face clouded over.  "Does anyone else know–?"_

_Menmet shook his head.  "Not that I know of.  But, Imhotep, your love is more dangerous than mine."_

_The most powerful man in Egypt, second only to the Pharaoh himself, turned away, gripping one hand fiercely in the other.  "I know.  But my love forces me to betray rational action.  I cannot keep myself away, even when I know what will happen if we are discovered."_

_Menmet cast his eyes down.  "I know," he whispered, almost to himself._

_"So we both love women we cannot have, for they belong to our Pharaoh, the man we must honor and protect above all others?"  Imhotep's voice dripped with irony._

_And for a moment, the two men stood on the same side of a deep abyss, almost understanding each other like brothers.  But the moment passed, and Menmet straightened.  _

_"It appears that way, Priest.  But we must always honor and protect our Pharaoh.  We have sworn–our duty and our honor."_

_Imhotep stared at Menmet, his face, full of love and humanity, turning cold and unforgiving.  "So you choose your duty over love?"_

_Menmet paused, thinking about Nefertiri, who he loved with his entire being.  "I believe that the Gods esteem honor over love.  If we do our duty in life, we will be rewarded with our loved ones someday."_

_"When, Med Jai?" Imhotep gave a harsh laugh._

_Menmet shook his head.  "Maybe in a thousand lifetimes, Priest.  But if one day I can walk by her side once again–in peace and love and honor–then all my sacrifices will have been worth it.  That is the meaning of duty, and the meaning of rebirth."_

_Imhotep's response burned itself into Menmet's consciousness, into his innermost fears.  "The Gods will always honor a love borne of the heavens rather than a misplaced sense of duty, duty to a man who is no more divine that you or I.  Remember my words, Med Jai."  Imhotep offered him a bitter smile.  _

_"You will wait your thousand lifetimes.  But what if this was your only chance?  What if the only lifetime you live with Nefertiri is this one?" he shook his head, gazing derisively at Menmet.  "You will have sacrificed the greatest gift the gods can bestow.  And, believe me, they will not reward you for squandering their gift."  Imhotep stepped back, quietly, so his face was half hidden in shadow._

_And the choices were made.  There would be no more arguments, no more philosophical debates.  The two men, who had come so close, now stood apart, each on one side of the widening chasm.   After this moment, the ridge between them would never be mended.  They would always be on opposite sides of the abyss._

_One side would know nothing but agony, loss, and despair, broken up by mere moments of happiness.  But even those moments would not be pure, but would be laced with darkness, with the shadows of evil.  The other side would, for many lifetimes, know happiness, but an empty happiness, lifetimes lived without the true love of his soul.  But finally, millennia later, the gods would reward him, and he would walk in the sunlight with her–Evy, Nefertiri–doubtless she had other names as well.  But finally, they would find each other again..._

_The fates of the two men, seemingly traveling on the same path, suddenly diverged.  Indeed, they would meet again..._

_But for lifetime after lifetime, they would be nothing but enemies._

***

Note: The words that I say come directly from the black book actually came from Normandi Ellis' book "Awakening Osiris: The Egyptian Book of the Dead."  It is a beautiful compilation of various hymns and writings from the walls of Ancient Egyptian tombs. 

***


	19. Dr Bhunia or How I Learned to Stop Worry...

**Chapter Nineteen: Dr. Bhunia or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Book**

***

It had taken another four weeks by ship to get back to the Red Sea, and Hubert had continued to be seasick.  Pierre thought it was rather funny, but stopped laughing after the first time he had been forced to help clean up the mess.

They worried and argued about how best to conceal the black book.  It was difficult because not only was the book very large and wide, it was extremely heavy.  They finally wrapped it in linen and hit it under the second false bottom of Hubert's trunk.  Under the first false bottom they placed some very well done costume jewelry.  If one of Imhotep's inspection officers managed to search that far, they would probably let them go–or steal the jewelry and then let them go.  In the rest of the suitcase they packed Hubert's regular clothes.

They would just have to pray that no one searched their bags too closely.

***

Their ship sailed through the Suez Canal and around the eastern coast of Egypt to Alexandria.  Immediately after docking, all of the passengers of the ship took their bags and brought them to the police office, where every person and bag was inspected before they would be allowed inside the country.  There were many travelers, so Jonathan, Pierre, and Hubert had to wait anxiously for several hours.

The waiting was definitely the worst part, Jonathan thought with a scowl.

When they finally got near the front of the line, Jonathan was horrified to see the guards ripping through the suitcases of the people in front of them.  Obviously security was much tighter here, trying to enter Egypt, than anywhere else.  And if they found the book...it was all over.

Jonathan shared a agonized look with Pierre.  Neither knew what to do.  In a few minutes, they could be discovered for what they were.

Think, Carnahan, think, he told himself furiously, racking his brains for some semblance of a plan.  But nothing came to him.  He looked up, trying to maintain an outward calm while his insides raged in a fierce panic.

And then–from nowhere it seemed–came an avenging angel.

***

"Dr. Bhunia!" Jonathan called out joyously, stepping out of the line with his suitcase.

The heavyset Indian man turned, surprised, but smiled when he saw Jonathan.  "Um hello!  Evans, was it?"

Jonathan nodded enthusiastically, coming over to shake Bhunia's hand.  "Yes, yes of course, you must remember us."  He gestured to Hubert, who had come up behind him.

Bhunia nodded, frowning slightly.  "But what are you doing back here, in Alexandria?"

Jonathan scanned his head quickly for a lie.  "Erm, when we got to Hong Kong we found the apartment where she had been staying, and–"

"Who again?" Bhunia asked carelessly.

"My sister, Danielle.  We got a forwarding address from her landlady.  She's moved to Cairo."

Bhunia smiled again, remembering their little chat.  "Ah, of course.  Mr. Belleau," he said as Hubert came forward to shake his hand vigorously.

"We've almost found her, sir," Hubert said, smiling sycophantically.  "We've almost tracked her down."

Bhunia smiled.  "I'm glad to hear it, boys."

This whole time Pierre had been trying to mask his utter confusion by pasting a huge smile on his face.  What the hell is going on here? he wondered.  Who is this greasy Indian guy?

Jonathan continued speaking jovially.  "We really couldn't have done it without you, sir!  Your advice has helped us so much!"

"It did?" Bhunia asked, confused.  He didn't remember giving them any advice.

"Of course!  Truly, my good son, you helped us more than we can even thank you for!" Jonathan continued, heaping flattery upon him.

"Oh, well, you're welcome," Bhunia got out, smiling in a puzzled way, but with an unmistakable look of pride and arrogance coming over his pudgy features.  He was no doubt internally congratulating himself on being such a stand-up human being.  "What, exactly did I say?"

"So," Jonathan continued eagerly, quickly ignoring his question, "the last time we saw you we were in Ethiopia!  What are you doing here in Egypt?"

Bhunia smiled greasily.  "Transferred.  They're increasing security around here, you know.  Getting harder and harder to get in and out."

"Really?" Jonathan asked, his voice rising a pitch.

For the first time Bhunia noticed Pierre, and gestured to him as he spoke to Jonathan.  "Who's he?"

"Oh," Jonathan said shrugging, "we hired him to be our bodyguard.  It's dangerous traveling nowadays, old boy."

"Oh."  Bhunia smiled, appreciating the wealthy European travelers before him.

But suddenly the two men checking the luggage motioned for Jonathan to bring his suitcase over for inspection.  "You," the first one called, bored.  "Bring that bag over here."

In response, Bhunia waved his hands, smiling benevolently at the three men.  "I know them," he said to the inspectors, waving the three of them through and past security, no doubt feeling like father Christmas himself.  He showed them the way out of the police office, rubbing his stomach in a self-satisfied way.

Jonathan shook his hand again.  "Thanks again, so much, Doctor.  When we find Danielle, maybe we'll bring her here and we'll all get together.  Have dinner sometime!  What do you say?"

"Oh, well, sure," Bhunia said, flustered, surprised that these men liked him so much.  Well, he was a smart, generous man and a damn hard worker.  He should be well-liked, dammit.

"Good luck finding her, boys!" he said, waving goodbye as the three men practically ran into a waiting taxi.

***

After having many laughs at Bhunia's expense, and a quick two day boat ride down the Nile, the three men checked into what must have been Cairo's seediest motel.

As they prepared for sleep, Pierre turned to Jonathan.  "So where are we going tomorrow?  You said that you knew of a place where we could get information about the Med Jai."

Jonathan smiled to himself as he fell back on his uncomfortable bed.  "It's called The Sultan's Kasbah."

***

Jonathan walked into the Kasbah, his eyes adjusting to the dim interior.  Pierre and Hubert waited by the door as Jonathan cased the place.  The Sultan's Kasbah had been an old haunt of his, he knew the dark corners of this bar like the back of his hand.  He had met some rather unsavory characters here, and had gotten into his fair share of trouble.

But (thanks to Evy) he had always paid the bills on time and had been pretty well liked.  The bar owner, Nazir, had always enjoyed Jonathan–especially the English pounds with which he always paid the bill.  Jonathan surveyed the bar for Nazir, but did not see him.  That wasn't surprising.  Nazir often waited behind the scenes.  He was, Jonathan thought with a snort, probably counting his money.  

Jonathan quickly scanned the faces of the men sitting around, not seeing anyone he knew.  Since Imhotep's palace had been built not sixty miles from the city, Cairo had changed, and changed a lot.  Jonathan was pretty sure no one here would recognize him, but he wanted to be cautious.

"Stay here, but look natural.  Sit at that table.  If someone asks, order a drink, but don't do anything distinctive," Jonathan said quietly to his partners in crime.

Pierre rolled his eyes.  "Thanks for the advice, Evans," he whispered back.  He found it amusing to use Jonathan's fake name.

Jonathan gave the look right back to him.  "No problem, Gabriel.  I heard in some circles that you need it."

Pierre grinned.  "Yeah yeah, English boy.  Now get going," he said, smacking Jonathan's ass.

Jonathan made his way over to the bar, stepping past a drunk man sleeping on the floor and a woman giving two other men a risque personal dance.

He glanced back at Pierre and Hubert, who were making their way to a table, repressing laughter.  They had decided to wear disguises in case Jonathan ran into someone he had known who could positively identify him.  Pierre now had a goatee and huge black eyebrows, and Hubert was under large black glasses and a beret.  A quick visit to a local costume shop had done the trick.

He repressed his mirth, however, because he knew he must look equally ridiculous, at least to them.  He hoped the brown beard concealed enough of his face–while looking natural–to make him look like someone else.

Approaching the bar, he laid down some money and spoke to the bartender.  "A shot of bourbon."

The barkeep, a thin, scraggly looking man with an eyepatch poured Jonathan's drink, eyeing him closely.  As he leaned forward, Jonathan discerned a rather unpleasant smell emanating from the man's unwashed body.  He shouldn't be surprised, he thought with a sigh.  This place had never exactly been respectable.

But the bartender was no fool, and his eyes panned up to a table near the doorway shrewdly, where Pierre and Hubert were sitting down.

"Drinking without your friends?" he asked nasally, eyeing Jonathan with a clever gleam in his eye.

A year ago, Jonathan might have laughed, cowering internally while he debated ways to flee without being too obvious.  But this Jonathan was a harder, tougher breed.

He looked right back at the bartender.  "Actually, they're waiting for me.  Is Nazir around?"

The man looked at him, slightly surprised.  What did this Englishman know of Nazir?  "What do you want?" he asked.

Jonathan calmly took a sip of his cold drink.  Under Imhotep's reign, everyone was more careful about everything.  "I have some business with him."  He silently stared back at the smelly man, keeping his face a bland mask.

The man assessed him silently, debating internally whether it was worth it to bother his boss, and risk getting yelled at later.  But it wasn't too often a well-dressed Englishman walked in, so finally he relented.  "This way," he muttered.

Jonathan grabbed his drink and followed the skinny man as he left the bar area, walked down a dim hallway to a stained door at the end.  "Wait here," he cautioned.  He knocked, then disappeared inside the room.

Jonathan waited nervously.  He had always trusted Nazir implicitly, because he could count on the man to be utterly predictable in acting in his own best interest.  He was a shrewd and canny businessman and a ruthless loan shark.  He made heaps of money by lending poor men and women cash, and then forcing them to repay it at exorbitant rates of interest.

But Nazir was also exceptionally good at keeping a secret.  The man knew lots of things he would never say, and heard lots of things from drunk travelers and businessmen that he tucked away, to be used to his advantage later.

The brown door creaked open, and the barkeep popped his head out.  "Who should I say is calling?" he asked sarcastically.

Jonathan shook his head.  "I go by no name here.  He will speak to me."

The barkeep eyed him, his body propped up between the door and the doorframe, concealing whatever lay behind him.  "Why?"

"He knew me before...before Imhotep."

The dirty man shook his head, as if to say, "whatever you say."  He shut the door behind him, coming to frisk Jonathan.  Finding no weapons, he shrugged again, this time clearly implying, "your funeral, friend."

He knocked on the door again.  Hearing "come in" bellowed from the other side, he beckoned Jonathan to enter.

***

Stepping into the dank room, it took Jonathan a minute for his eyes to adjust to the light.  When he did, he found himself looking at a confused Nazir, reclining in his chair behind a cluttered desk.  "Yes?" he asked, staring skeptically at the stranger.

Jonathan smiled to himself, reaching his hands forward to pull of the sticky beard.  The fake hair came off in his hands, and he looked up to see Nazir's face frozen in a look of almost comical surprise.  The man had gained weight, Jonathan thought, noticing the protruding lower belly of the Egyptian.  And he appeared just as oily as ever.

But Nazir quickly recovered, leaning forward and eyeing Jonathan as the Englishman stepped into the light emanating from a single bulb hanging overhead.

"Carnahan," Nazir croaked, sliding his chair up to his desk as if about to conduct business.  "What brings you back to Cairo?"

Jonathan smiled wryly.  "Many things, Nazir," he answered, settling himself in the chair facing the bar owner.  As he surveyed the dumpy room, he wondered why Nazir, who was making plenty of money, didn't sell this place and move on.  But Jonathan realized that this dank little bar was where Nazir felt right at home.

Nazir pretended carelessness as he rearranged some papers on his desk.  "Didn't know you were still alive," he commented casually.

"It hasn't been easy to stay that way," Jonathan responded, a smirk crossing his features.

Nazir laughed appreciatively.  "I can imagine, Carnahan.  So where have you been?"

"Places," Jonathan replied evasively.  While he needed Nazir's help, there was no need to give him too much information.

Nazir acknowledged Jonathan's terse answers, understanding that he wasn't going to get much out of the usually talkative Englishman.  "You seem different, friend," he commented wryly.

Jonathan bowed his head.  "Much has changed."

Nazir nodded, the smile slipping off of his round face.  "So what do you need me for?" he asked bluntly.  "I know Imhotep's after your neck.  You wouldn't show your face here if it wasn't important.  What are you after?"

Jonathan opted for honesty.  "I need your help Nazir, as well as your discretion.  And I'm willing to compensate you generously for your...services."

Nazir nodded, rubbing his hand over his oily chin.  "Well, Carnahan, I'm sorry to disappoint, but I no longer sell arms out the back.  It's become to dangerous in recent months."

Jonathan shook his head.  "No, it's not weapons I need.  It's information."

Nazir's eyes widened appreciatively.  Gathering rumors and secrets was part of his trade, the part he was most proud of.  "Ahh, so I see.  But before we get to that, we should talk about payment..." he trailed off, eyeing Jonathan's face craftily, trying to discern how much the Englishman had on him, and how much he could ask for.  "I presume this information will not help our lord and ruler, and I would expect a large compensation for my," he coughed, "treason."

Jonathan smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes.  In earlier days, he might have allowed himself to be manipulated by Nazir, but not anymore.  "I am willing to offer you 60 British pounds, Nazir.  But only if the information you provide satisfies me.  If you do not have what I need, or I think you're lying to me, I'll take my business–and my money–elsewhere.  Are we understood?"

Nazir stared at him in amazement.  The Jonathan Carnahan he remembered was a fun-loving drunk, an easygoing bachelor who loved a good laugh.

But the Jonathan before him was not that same man.  And for a moment, Nazir the corrupt business man was replaced by Nazir the human being, and he wondered what Jonathan had been through this past year.  He knew, as well as everyone else, who Jonathan was and what he had done in the past to defeat Imhotep.  But Nazir was, unlike most, one of the few people who could positively identify him.

"I understand, Carnahan.  But why shouldn't I just go to Imhotep's special police and have you arrested?"

Jonathan stared back at him unrelentingly.  "Because you can get money from me by leaving me alive.  If you turn me in, you'll get nothing."

Nazir contemplated that, begrudgingly nodding as he realized the economic sense of that statement.  "Fine.  What do you want to know?"

Jonathan smiled, leaning in towards Nazir, until the two men were only a foot apart.  "I want to know about the Med Jai.  I want to know about Ardeth."  Nazir started to interrupt but Jonathan beat him to it.  "Don't lie and say you don't know who Ardeth is.  You know.  All sorts of people come in here all the time, drinking too much, saying more than they should, sharing rumors and secrets with you.  _You know_."  

He took a breath, continuing into Nazir's surprised silence.  "I want to know what happened to the desert warriors after Imhotep took control.  I want to know where they scattered, and where the tribes have settled now.  I want to know where Rick and Evy are.  Tell me everything you know."

Nazir stared back at Jonathan in silence.  "I know the answers to most of your questions, Carnahan.  But it will cost you more than 60 pounds."

Jonathan nodded impatiently.  "Just start talking."

Nazir took a deep breath, and then began.  "Well, one of Imhotep's translators stopped here for a drink not long ago..."

***

After about an hour, Jonathan finally emerged from the back of the bar, dirty and sweaty but with a triumphant grin on his face.  Pierre and Hubert were on their third pitcher of ale when Jonathan waved them over.

In the dingy hallway, Pierre handed Nazir the envelope stuffed with bills.  He glared at the fat little Egyptian.  "The information you gave my friend better have been accurate," he growled into the man's ear as the money passed from his hands.  "Or I'll come back here and finish you off myself."

Nazir looked at the Frenchman's glaring face, his tense posture, and his thick muscles and smiled weakly.  "For cash, and an old friend like Carnahan here, I won't disappoint."

Pierre nodded, glaring into the Egyptian's beady eyes.  "Good.  I don't care what you do with your clients, barkeep.  But if something happens to Jonathan–if this is any kind of trap–I'll come back and kill you myself."

Nazir turned white and nodded, his eyes wide and frightened, his fingers clutching the paper envelope like at any moment someone would snatch it away.

Pierre nodded gruffly.  "Let's go."  And the three of them–divested of much of their cash, but arms laden with valuable information–headed for the door.

***The Next Day***

"I only want three!" Jonathan complained as the merchant tried to sell him his entire stock of camels.  "Three!"

Pierre, seeing the commotion, came over to back up his friend.  Laying an arm over the little Arabian man's shoulders, he proceeded to give him some sound advice about how and when to sell his stock.  Three minutes later, Jonathan and Pierre walked down the crowded marketplace street with three baying camels, which they had gotten at a surprising discount.

"Smelly little beasts," Jonathan commented as they corralled them next to an open air restaurant, which was really just a bar with some outdoor seating.  Men and women hurried by in different types of exotic dress, and they could hear the sounds of merchants describing their wares.  It was hot and dusty and busy, but felt completely natural.  Some things, Jonathan thought again to himself, never change.

Hubert was already waiting for them at one of the sunny tables.  "I got all the supplies," he announced quietly as they both sat.  "Enough for all of us for eight days."  Seeing Jonathan's look, he added, "just in case."

Jonathan spoke pointedly.  "The trek should take us three days at most.  Straight East, Nazir said.  Well, at least that's the rumor."

Pierre shrugged.  "We don't want to have to come back to Cairo for supplies."

Jonathan nodded, slapping at a fly that landed on his arm.  "We leave tonight.  We don't want to attract undue attention by leaving in broad daylight.  And, as I'm sure you know, the desert is much easier to traverse at night."

Pierre and Hubert both nodded their agreement.  The next few days were the ultimate test of their entire mission.

***

The sun blazed down on the three men trekking through the empty desert.  It was only 11 a.m., but the sun was unforgiving in its burning caress. 

It was the fifth day of their journey, and they had found absolutely no remnants of any life whatsoever.

"This desert is as barren as my ex-wife," Pierre commented, scratching his unkempt mane of dirty blond hair.

Jonathan snorted, but he sounded more relaxed and confident than he felt.  They had reached the foothills of the mountains early yesterday morning, and were now walking south along the base of the mountains.  But Jonathan was getting worried.  If they didn't find something soon, they were going to have to turn around to get more supplies.

"This desert is as empty as Jean-Luc Belleau's love life," Hubert spoke up, mocking his alter-ego.

"This desert is as vacant as Imhotep's sense of humor." Jonathan added.

Pierre laughed at that one.  "Didn't like your jokes, Evans?"

Jonathan shook his head, allowing himself to grin.  "Nah.  But it could have been because he didn't understand a word of what I was saying."

They shared a laugh, but quickly lapsed again into silence.  The worry was beginning to eat at all of them, and Jonathan couldn't believe that they could come this far and not find Ardeth or any surviving Med Jai.  He allowed his doubts to fill his mind.  Was it possible that they were all dead?

At least they still had the black book.  He leaned back slightly, running his hand over the heavy package attached to his saddle bag.

No one dared to voice a doubt, but the uneasy silence continued, each man lost in his own personal thoughts.  Jonathan gazed up, shielding his eyes from the sun's massive power.  He usually thought of the sun as life-giving, a benevolent force in the universe.  But without water, to a human being, the sun could become the most potent of killers.  _Like the Gods, the Sun has the ability to bestow life, as well as the ability to take it away..._

"When I said I wanted to come along I had no idea what this trip would entail," Pierre began, grumbling just to fill the vacuous silence.  "First I spend four weeks cleaning up his," he jerked his thumb toward a blushing Hubert, "barfola, then I have to wait for hours in a disreputable little dump of a bar..." he paused, wiping some sweat from his brow.  "And now I'm trekking blind through a desert I don't know, searching for people I've never seen."

"Well," Jonathan said, trying to lighten the mood, "when you put our trip in that context this seems like the high-note."

Pierre laughed.  "Sure, Evans, whatever you say.  But I would like to add that–"

But Pierre was interrupted by a sound, echoing and bouncing off of the mountain walls.  It sounded like..._Who goes there?_  Could that be right?

"Shhh," Jonathan said, reigning in his camel.  "Was that a voice?"

Pierre and Hubert stilled, each reaching for the small handgun they had attached to their waist.

_"Who are you?"_  The sound came again, from far away, echoing on the cavernous walls of the mountains.  But it was definitely words.  Coming from a voice.  A human voice.  The three men strained themselves, searching for the owner, for the origin of that beautiful sound–the proof of life in this barren wasteland.

Then, Jonathan saw him.  A black figure up in the mountains.  To them he was only the size of a pencil.  But it was a man.  In black robes.  Jonathan squinted.  With black tattoos on his face.  

A Med Jai.  

He stood up awkwardly on the camel, letting out a whoop that reverberated around them.  "Med Jai!  We are here to see Ardeth!  I am Jonathan Carnahan!"

***

Notes: 

1. Thanks to all my reviewers recently: cacinapalmero, Angel Ruse, MBooker (I'm a romantic at heart too, don't worry!), Princess of the Darkness, Aulizia, Eviefan, Kylie, NightsClaws, MadMax, Deana...and to tellergirl and Buffelyn for reading the entire thing all at once ;-)

2. The Sultan's Kasbah is the name of one of Aulizia's stories.  I thought it would be funny to use here, because in her story it is the place where Jonathan originally steals the key from Rick, before The Mummy even begins.

3. A note about the currencies and amounts used in the chapter: Jonathan offers Nazir £60 (British pounds) for information.  Before World War II, £60 would have been approx. $300 (a pound was worth about $5).  Translating it to current times, that offer would be worth approx (VERY appox, gimme a break) $5,000.

***


	20. The Arrival

**Chapter Twenty: The Arrival**

***

Dalil raced down the foothill, his black robes flying out from behind him as he ran at full speed toward the mess of tents.

"Ardeth!" he yelled frantically, gasping for breath as he passed the elder's tent.  "Ardeth!"

Omar and Sharma stepped out of the tent, staring bewildered as the younger man continued to bellow the name of their leader at the top of his lungs.

"My son, what has happened?" Omar asked gently, stepping forward and placing his hand on Dalil's arm.

"Three riders approaching!" Dalil gasped out.   "One says he is Jonathan Carnahan, the man from legend!"

***

Ardeth had not run this hard since the battle against the army of Anubis.  His heart pounded in his throat as he ran, his black robe billowing out behind him.  He had never felt so many conflicting emotions–fear and hope and relief and incredulity.  It could be a trap.  Or it could really be Jonathan.  Could Rick and Evy be with him?  Was it possible?

"Jonathan?" he called out as he reached the ridge, staring down at the three figures approaching on camels.  They were dressed in the clothes of the desert nomad, robes wrapped tightly about their bodies.  But Ardeth immediately discerned that all three riders were men.  Therefore Evy was not with him.  But then who?

The rider in front waved his arm frantically in response.  "Is that you, Ardeth old boy?"

Ardeth broke out into an exuberant smile.  He would recognize Jonathan Carnahan's voice anywhere.

***

"My good man!" Jonathan exclaimed jovially, grinning with relief and happiness, as he and Ardeth embraced, holding each other tightly.  Ardeth never thought he would be quite so happy to hear the voice of Jonathan Carnahan.

"It is good to see you, my old friend," Ardeth replied as the two men parted, grinning back at him.

They grinned stupidly at each other for a few seconds.  A crowd of Med Jai had gathered behind Ardeth to welcome the visitors.  They hadn't seen anyone outside of the tribe for so long.  This was a real surprise, and they did not yet know if it boded well or ill for them.

Finally, both seemed to recover at once.  Jonathan began, gesturing towards his friends.  "Ardeth, let me introduce my traveling companions.  This is Hubert, who I worked with in Paris."  Jonathan hesitated, then decided to tell Ardeth the details later.  "And this is Pierre, who was holding...something for us in Shanghai."

Ardeth nodded at the two men, then turned back to Jonathan.  "You came all the way from Shanghai?"

Jonathan nodded, grinning again.  "Didn't think I had it in me, did ya?"

Ardeth smiled.  Jonathan turned to Pierre and Hubert.  "And this is Ardeth Bay, leader of the Med Jai."

Pierre and Hubert both lowered their heads in respect.  Ardeth, too, was a legend, as were Rick and Evy and Jonathan.  Except Ardeth was a complete mystery.  No one knew anything about the desert warrior.  He was a complete enigma.  Pierre realized with a start that he was probably only one of a dozen Westerners who had ever even seen his face.

Yes, this man deserved their respect indeed.

Ardeth smiled.  "You, of course, are all welcome."  He gestured behind him.  "These are my people."

Rashid and Sharma stepped forward, Omar and the rest of the elders behind them.  "Jonathan Carnahan," Sharma began, her steady and confidant voice a strong contrast to her small frame and white hair.  "We bid you welcome.  Needless to say, we have heard much about you, although we never had the honor of your presence."

Rashid nodded.  "We hope that you're coming all the way here means you have some...good news for us."

Sharma gave him a sharp look.  "Indeed, we have hopes.  But first things first."  She gestured to a young man.  "Ibne here will lead you to a tent where you can bathe and wash away the grime of travel."

Jonathan nodded and lowered his head in deference to her position as Elder.  "We all thank you for your hospitality," he said formally.

Another young man came forward, taking their camels and leading them away.  The crowd began to disperse, whispering excitedly to themselves, although none dared approach the three Westerners.  Ardeth grinned.  "I will come and get you later, my friend.  We have much to discuss."

***

After bathing, putting on a clean set of clothes, and eating, Jonathan, Pierre, and Hubert were met by Ardeth, who led them to his own tent.  The sun had gone down and the entire camp was bathed in dark blue light.  Far to the west, the remains of the sun lingered, rosy streaks hanging blissfully in the air.  It was beautiful, deceptively beautiful.  Too beautiful for such a barren wasteland.

"Feeling better?" Ardeth asked as he settled himself on a pallet, lighting the torch that illuminated the small space.

"Yes, much," Jonathan confessed as he made himself comfortable.  Hubert and Pierre did the same.

"So," Ardeth began, looking expectantly at Jonathan.  He was a very patient man, but his hopes and curiosities could not be contained any longer.  "You'd better tell me how you managed to get here.  And why."

Jonathan took a deep breath, and began.  He left some of the details out, but he related his story fairly accurately.  Ardeth listened spellbound, gratified and excited upon hearing about the resistence movement in Paris, nervous during the recounting of their meeting with Bhunia.  By the time Jonathan got to his meeting with Pierre, Ardeth could not contain himself and the questions tumbled out of his mouth, directed at the Frenchman.

"You had the book?  For a month?  In China?"

Pierre smiled wryly.  "Indeed."

Ardeth was flabbergasted.  It was the duty of his people to watch over the books.  But they were sacred to Egypt and her gods.  How did the book get to Shanghai?

Ardeth shook his head.  "Where did you get it?"

A smile tugged at the corners of Pierre's lips as he realized how ludicrous this was.  "An antique shop."

"And how did the owner of the shop get it?" Ardeth pressed.

Pierre shrugged.  "The guy didn't really want to speak about it.  I had to give him a lot of encouragement to pass it over."

"You didn't ask?"

Pierre shook his head.  "In my business you learn not to ask too many questions.  I don't know where he got it."  He paused.  "All I know is that there is a lot more to this book and to the legends than anyone ever knew.  I have no idea how the book got there, but I would hazard a guess that no human being brought it all the way to China."

Ardeth nodded, a slight smile flitting across his face.  "I suppose I must agree with you."

Jonathan quickly finished the tale, bringing Ardeth up to date.  He also informed him of the information Nazir had given him.  "Evy is still alive, enslaved in Imhotep's palace.  And Rick is supposedly alive too, toiling with the other slaves in building the grand palace."

"And the boy?" Ardeth asked.

"Alex?  Yes, he's alive too, apparently with Evy."

Ardeth exhaled, and gave him a truly hopeful smile.  "So we're all still alive.  That seems more like fate than coincidence, does it not?"

Jonathan smiled tentatively.  "We've never lost before."

"No, we haven't," Ardeth agreed, nodding his head.  "And we won't start now."

Jonathan felt warmed inside.  It felt good to see the old Ardeth–the leader, assertive and self-assured.

"So we're all still alive, and you've brought me the book," Ardeth continued, a tinge of awe in his voice.  After so many months of depression and fear and utter loss of hope–well, it was almost unbelievable.

"Yes, but we can't open it," Hubert inserted dejectedly.

"What?" Ardeth asked, immediately crashing out of his reverie.  

"Yes, we were hoping that you had the key," Pierre said.

Ardeth was crushed.  "We don't have it.  I was assuming that you did."  He sighed, reality crushing all of his new hopes.  "I suppose it must be buried, somewhere out in the desert of Ahm Shere," he concluded reluctantly, his disappointment and frustration showing clearly on his face.

"Actually, erm," Jonathan coughed.  "That's not quite right."

"You know where the key is?" Pierre asked with interest.

"Erm, yes, I do," Jonathan admitted, afraid to spill the beans after guarding the information for so long.

"Well, where is it?" Ardeth demanded.

"In my suitcase."

Silence descended upon the quartet.  Jonathan winced.

"You had the key to it all along?" Pierre asked softly.

"Yes, old boy," Jonathan replied cheerfully.

"You had the key all along?" Pierre yelled, standing up and waving his arms about. 

"Calm down," Ardeth said, ducking his head to see Jonathan through Pierre's legs as the Frenchman gesticulated wildly.

"Uh huh," Jonathan admitted charmingly, smiling up at the Frenchman.

"Where?" Pierre demanded, looking at Jonathan accusingly.

"Inside the clay figure of the Virgin Mary."

Abruptly Pierre laughed.  "You mean it's been inside that ugly figurine this entire time?"

Jonathan nodded sheepishly.

Pierre continued chuckling.  "I knew it, Evans.  I knew you weren't the religious type!"

"Stop," Ardeth commanded, compelling silence.  "You're telling me that you've brought me both the Book of the Dead and the key all the way from Shanghai?"

All three men nodded.

Ardeth stood, his black robes flowing over his muscular form.  For the first time, he stood before the three men as a leader, as a warrior, as a man born to rule his people.  A new look came over Ardeth's face, one of determination and purpose, and Jonathan recognized it.  He had seen it but a few times in his life, but it was the same look Ardeth had worn as he demonstrated the only way to kill an Anubis warrior, before he himself ventured into the jungles of Ahm Shere.  A look of resolve, courage, and utter self-confidence.

Ardeth was a man to be feared, but above all, respected.

"Go and get them."

All three men stood in silence.  Jonathan looked into Ardeth's eyes as he spoke.  "Hubert, get our suitcases."

Hubert disappeared.  A few moments later he reappeared, dragging the heavy suitcase behind him.  Without speaking, Jonathan opened it and lifted out the clay figurine.  Without fanfare he turned, lifted it high above his head, and smashed it against the rocky ground.

The clay flew apart, shards flying and landing all over the small tent floor.  Dust hung in the air over the chalky mess, and Jonathan got down on his hands and knees, sorting through the remains.  

After what seemed like an eternity, he picked up a dust covered object.  With reverence, he wiped it on his new clothes, gently cleaning the object until it gleamed silvery in the torchlight.

"Oh my God," Pierre murmured in awe as Jonathan turned the key in his palm, feeling the familiar touch and weight of it.  Something always drew Jonathan to the key, as though he were meant to be its keeper.

Hubert's jaw dropped.  There was something...unsettling about the silver object, something mystical...it was almost as if the little box had its own aura...its own sinister purposes...

Ardeth moved forward, getting a closer look at it.  Jonathan handed it over without a word, feeling foolish.  If anyone was the keeper of the key, it was Ardeth.

Ardeth tested the weight in his palm, then, surprisingly, handed it right back to Jonathan.  It was certainly the key, but it never felt right when he held it.  He felt uneasy, knowing that the key was an object of the Gods, an object not of this world that refused to be contained by human hands.  It gleamed in the light, and it seemed to be taunting him... "It is as you say," he stated.  "It is the key."

Hubert's jaw dropped another inch.

Ardeth turned, still every bit the King of the Med Jai.  But when he spoke, his voice was scratchy with emotion.  "And the book?"

Without a word Jonathan lifted out the two false bottoms, the elaborate costume jewelry sliding out and falling to the ground.  And he lifted out the black Book of the Dead.

Ardeth shook his head gently, as though his mind refused to believe what his eyes told him was true.  Jonathan lifted away the cloth and revealed the book in all its majesty.  In his hand he still held the key.

"Open it," Ardeth whispered reverentially.  Jonathan hesitated.  Was he ready for this?

"Do it," Pierre murmured, caught up in the spell the book wove with whomever came in contact with it.

Jonathan searched for the trigger, and finding it, pressed the button.  The key opened with a hiss, the five prongs whipping out with perfect synchronization.  It held an odd, sinister beauty that Jonathan could not resist.

He placed the key in the opening to the book.  He slowly turned it.  The hinges of the book clicked, popped open.  The sound of the book unlocking woke Jonathan from the spell, and he released the key, leaving it in the lock, and stepped away from the table, almost afraid of what he had done.

"Leave it," Ardeth said, looking almost afraid of what he had started.  "We need a plan."

***

Ardeth left abruptly to search for the Elders and to inform them of the recent developments.  He promised to return soon and bring them before the council.

Jonathan and Pierre sat waiting on a rock near Ardeth's tent.  Hubert had gone off to get some water for them, so the two men sat in silence, ruminating over the recent events.  Inside the tent, the book still lay, but neither man felt like sitting inside with it.  It was eerie, unnatural...they felt uneasy around it, both understanding implicitly that it was not of their world, and not to be trifled with.

"So, Carnahan," Pierre began, picking his teeth with his knife.  Jonathan noticed that this was the first time Pierre had called him by his Christian name.  "Why didn't you tell us about the key?"

Jonathan hesitated, unsure of what to say.  Finally he decided on the simple truth.  Pierre was a man who could handle it.  And after all that they had been through, he deserved to be told the truth.  "I wasn't sure I could trust you.  And–"

"What?" Pierre prompted, not offended in the least and truly interested.

"The truth is that every time that book has been opened it's been bad news.  I didn't want to tempt fate, you know?"

Pierre nodded, staring out into the desert, black and endless and strangely seductive.  "I think I understand."

"And–" Jonathan hesitated again, but Pierre did not push him.  Finally Jonathan spoke.  "The truth is that I'm afraid of what I might do with the book.  I'm not like my sister Evy or my nephew Alex.  I'm not good enough to handle it.  I just don't have a good enough grasp of the ancient language, its innuendoes and double meanings."  Jonathan sighed, hanging his head.  He felt tired and worn out.  "The book is so powerful...I was afraid if I opened it, I would be unleashing something that I wouldn't be able to handle."

Pierre leaned back, stretching his arms high over his head.  He turned and looked at Jonathan, and their eyes met.  "Well, we've taken it to the right place."

A weary smile flickered over Jonathan's face.  "Yeah," he agreed.  "The only place."

*** 

"This new information is invaluable.  This is what we have been waiting for," Ardeth asserted, beginning to pace again.  "Let us plan for the future.  First, we must infiltrate the slaves."

The council was having, as usual, a heated debate, except that this time Ardeth discerned, not with a little enjoyment, that the elders were much more willing to listen to his advice.

"To reach the imprisoned Med Jai?" Sharma asked, immediately understanding where Ardeth's thoughts were leading.

"Yes," Ardeth replied, rubbing his hands together as he thought.  "We must send an emissary to tell our brothers that we still live.  We know from our scouts–Hamir and Dalil–that there are at least twenty Med Jai enslaved by the Creature.  And," he added, "we have just learned that Rick O'Connell is enslaved there also.  If this is so, it is imperative that we reach him."

"What good would reaching them do?" Rashid asked, cautiously, but without rancor.  "We have no plan."

"We must give them hope," Ardeth argued.  "Those that are imprisoned do not know if any Med Jai still live.  If we can reach them, we will let them know there is a reason to survive.  Giving them hope will prepare them for the coming battle–the battle we must fight if we are ever to defeat Imhotep."

"This is true, Ardeth, but shouldn't we wait until we know what our plan is before sending someone off to be a slave?" Sharma asked, raising her eyebrow.

Ardeth hesitated.  "Ideally, yes.  But if something should happen to our emissary, and he was...discovered, tortured...he must know nothing.  He must have nothing to give away."

"So," Rashid began, a hint of sarcasm filling his voice.  "Who will you choose to undertake this dangerous mission?"  Silence descended over the council.

"I will do it," a voice spoke up from the corner.

Rashid turned his head, searching into the dark corners of the tent for the owner of the brave statement.

Adil stepped nervously forward.  "I will join the slaves and tell them that their tribe lives."

Ardeth shook his head.  "Adil, no, you are too young."

But Adil stood his ground.  "I am nearly twenty years old, and I am ready to serve my people."

A lump rose in Ardeth's throat, as he realized that Adil would run through fire for his commander, for his leader–for him.  Ardeth had truly come to see Adil as the younger brother Allah had not blessed him with.  For all his talk, Ardeth suddenly realized how much he wanted to protect him, how little he wanted to risk yet another life.

Ardeth swallowed and walked forward and embraced the younger man.  "Are you sure, Adil?"

"Yes, my leader."

Ardeth sighed heavily.  "Then this quest will fall upon your shoulders, Adil.  Know that our hearts and minds are with you.  We pray for your safety.  You sacrifice and risk for your people, who honor you."

Adil nodded, his face suddenly looking every inch the young nineteen years that he was.

Ardeth continued, smiling gently down at Adil, his features full of pride.  "Do not take stupid risks.  We need men like you.  Come back to us safely."

Adil nodded seriously.  "I will, my leader."

"How do you propose," Rashid interrupted, "we reach the Med Jai and O'Connell without giving ourselves away?"

Ardeth smiled, looking up at Rashid.  "I have an idea."

***

Note: Hello, all my loyal readers!  I'm back from England/Italy, and I must admit that one of the most exciting parts of my vacation was what I saw in a little museum in London...(drum roll please)...the actual sarcophagus of Seti I.  It was really beautiful and ornately carved, dating from 1279 B.C.  (He was the richest Pharaoh of them all, wasn't he?)  LOL.  

REVIEW please.....

***


	21. Confrontations

**Chapter Twenty-One: Confrontations**

***

Evy walked slowly down the palace corridor, the dusty rags in her hands.  The Pharaoh's palace in the old days had been bustling, full of slaves, servants, advisors, guests.  With Nefertiri's memories, Evy knew that this was odd, like the palace of a dead Pharaoh.  In fact, the sinister quality of the poorly lit hallways made it feel like a tomb.

She entered Imhotep's chambers, starting with the ornate furniture.  Every time she entered this room, it reminded her painfully of her father's chambers.  Perhaps Imhotep had done that on purpose, modeled his rooms after her father's to cause her pain.  Whatever the reason, she always found a lump in her throat, a dam of unshed tears for a man, who, in this life, she had never even known.

Evy turned to clean the desk, but stopped short.

She couldn't believe her eyes.

There, lying innocently on top of papyrus sheets, was the Book of the Living.  It gleamed, the light from the candles bouncing off the smooth gold cover, the light fluttering and twinkling...almost as though the book was winking at her.  

Evy walked forward, running her fingers over the familiar cover, her fingertips molding to its contours and grooves.  It was cold to the touch.  She remembered when she had first held it.  She had been young, on her first expedition to Hamanuptra.  When she had met Rick.  How little she had known then!

She picked it up, her arms aching slightly because of the weight.  But holding the book was, in an odd way, like coming home again.  They were destined to find each other, in life after life.  

As she gazed at it, Evy felt as though she were welcoming home an old friend.

But the book revealed nothing, just gleamed in the torch light, and Evy shifted her weight, examining it to see if it had changed as much as she had in their time apart.  But that was silly because the book was eternal, unchanging.  It was and it would be.  

It was a sleeping demon, harmless in its undisturbed slumber.  But when awoke, it could unleash awesome, unspeakable power...

"Isn't it beautiful?" a voice suddenly cut through her thoughts.  Evy whirled around to face Imhotep, only a few feet from her.  Imhotep, noiseless and lethal as the shifting sand, silent and sinister as slow death.

She did not respond, but her body tensed, her gut tight and fluttering with nervousness.

"You wouldn't be thinking of trying to use that book, would you, Princess?"  He seemed to be mocking her, but his black eyes revealed nothing.

Evy stood straight and looked him in the eyes.  "No.  But without the key, I doubt you are thinking of using it either."

His lips twisted into a wry acknowledgment of her statement.  "No one will be using it, Nefertiri."

"Unless," she said carefully, placing the book down gently on the desk, "someone comes along who has a way of opening it."

"That's impossible," Imhotep replied, looking down on her seriously.  "The key is destroyed or buried in the depths of Ahm Shere."

Evy paused.  "What if," she began cautiously, "the key isn't destroyed?"

Imhotep's eyes turned cold.  "It doesn't matter.  There's no way anyone can get the key past my guards and to the book, open it, and read the one passage that threatens me.  It's impossible."

Evy shrugged.  "Whatever you say, Imhotep."

She sidled past him and started walking towards the door.  "Wait," he ordered, and she stopped and slowly turned around.  "What are you implying?"

Evy shrugged again.  "Nothing.  Except that no one ever got anywhere by underestimating the books and the key."

Imhotep regarded her, his face blank and maddeningly expressionless.  "You mean like you did?"

Evy evaluated him, her eyes sweeping up and down the Priest's trim form.  "As high as the Gods have placed you, Imhotep...that is how low they can bring you."

Imhotep's handsome face twisted into an ironical smile.  "Indeed, Princess, that is where we do agree.  The Gods themselves have given me the world to rule.  How can you suggest that some mortals will come along with the key and defy the powers of the Gods themselves?"

Nefertiri reborn glared at her captor.  "You were once a mortal yourself, Imhotep, forget that not.  You have power, but it is power of unholiness, not the power of the Gods.  They have tolerated you, but they will not tolerate you forever."

Imhotep looked at her disdainfully.  "Tolerate me?  I am fulfilling the wishes of the Gods themselves.  They themselves put me on my throne."

"How do you know that this, this broken world is what they want?" Evy cried.  "Have you personally spoken with Amun-Ra?"

"Do you truly believe that anything happens that is not the design of the Gods?" Imhotep asked scornfully, turning and walking towards the window.

"Then what kinds of Gods do you worship, that they desire mindless bloodshed and terror, poverty and death?"

Imhotep turned around, his face dark and angry.  "Ah, Nefertiri, so naive, so self-righteous!  You haven't changed my Princess, not at all."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Evy exclaimed, advancing across the room towards where Imhotep stood.

"It means, sweetheart, that the entire story of human history has been filled with bloodshed and poverty and death.  Life is brief and cruel.  You were lucky–you were born to royalty.  But most of humanity has found life to be short, cold, and dark."  Imhotep gave a short, callous laugh.

"That's not true–" Evy began, but Imhotep interrupted her with a slashing downward motion of his hand.  She fell silent.

"Do you not remember what life was like, Nefertiri?  Or were you too sheltered, Seti's spoiled little brat?" his words dripped with scorn.  "Do you know what the rule of your father was like for the millions who were peasants, or the millions who were slaves?"

Evy backed away, shame seeping through her body.  She hadn't, she suddenly realized, known was life was like for them.  She hadn't even thought about it.  And she felt a repugnance for the woman she had been, for part of the woman who she probably still was.

Evy managed to find her voice.  "If life is so cold and dark, why don't you use your power to change that, Imhotep?"

He turned and looked at her, and for the first time since taking his throne Imhotep appeared to her as almost...human.  "My powers are given to me by Osiris.  I take my orders from him.  This is the world that he wants."

"The world that he wants, or the world that you believe he wants?" Evy whispered.

"Does it matter, Nefertiri?  I am as I am, as the Gods created me, no better and no worse."

"It does matter, Imhotep."  Evy lowered her eyes, but she spoke with utter certainty.  "Because you will pay for your sins against the world."

He laughed, a laugh full of bitterness.  "Will I?  You say so.  And yet you caution me for thinking I know the will of the Gods.  Do not think you are more than you are."  He looked her up and down, his mouth twisting into a contemptuous smirk.  "You are nothing but a scared slave."

Evy's mouth dropped in surprise, but she quickly regained her composure, anger seeping through her body.  Her voice rose as she retorted, "I am the woman who sent you back to your grave twice!  Do not underestimate me!"

"Of course I won't underestimate you, Princess.  Let's see, what were you?"  Imhotep took a few steps, pretending to ponder his own question.  "Oh, I remember now," he continued spitefully.  "You were a Pharaoh's daughter, a royal trinket, a whore to provide Egypt heirs."  At Evy's gasp of pain he continued sarcastically.  "Don't tell me you don't remember your illustrious past!"

Evy's face filled with pain, but she could not bring herself to speak.

"You lay under your own brother and you were patted on the head when you produced a son.  Was that fulfilling or noble, Nefertiri?" Her mouth opened slightly, her face filled with misery and the rush of ancient memories.  

Evy shook her head violently, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.  "It _was_ noble, Imhotep.  You would give up everything for love, but you know nothing of duty.  I fulfilled my duty to the land of my ancestors.  I would never abandon my oaths like a traitor!" 

Imhotep glared at her, his memories of the Princess resurfacing, vivid and potent.  "Then you know nothing of love!"

"Of course I loved him!" she cried, wiping tears from her eyes.  "I had to live the rest of my life knowing every single moment what I had lost.  I put my loyalty for Egypt above my love for him.  That _is_ sacrifice, Imhotep."

Imhotep clenched his fists, his temper flaring. "You talk to me of sacrifice?  I sacrificed my very humanity for my love!  You wouldn't give up anything, Nefertiri!"  He straightened, seeming to look down on her from a great height.  His next words dripped with loathing and they flew like daggers into Evy's heart.   "Menmet would have died for you.  But you gave him up for a crown."

"I did not–" she began furiously, but Imhotep had been roused, fury coursing through his veins like blood, and he could not stop himself.  

"And you found him in this life, didn't you?  O'Connell was your Med Jai, was he not?  And he would willingly have died for you in this life, too.  Did you ever tell him of your ancient past?  Or were you too ashamed?"

Evy gasped as if wounded.   "I am not ashamed, Imhotep!  I made a choice!  Do you not realize how much easier it would have been to abandon everything like you did and run away with him?"

"I could never have lived with myself if I had given up pure love to serve a man such as your father, to live my entire life a lie," Imhotep continued angrily.  "When the Gods give us a gift, we do not question it."

Evy's face softened.  "But look how you suffered," she whispered.

He looked into Evy's eyes, and the turmoil she saw there made her start.  He looked almost human, as though the old Imhotep was inside him somewhere, grappling with the demons that had invaded his soul.

"Yes, I suffered.  But now, after three millennia, we are together again."  He straightened, composing his face to mask his raging emotions.  "I do not regret the choice I made.  It is long past.  It is only for the Gods to judge us now."

They stared at each other, the room spreading and widening and creating a chasm between them that seemed to go on forever.

"And judge you they shall," Evy whispered.

Silence filled the room, and for the first time since her capture Evy felt...well, she didn't know what she felt.  She was confused, she was angry, she was upset.  But it was as though the air had been cleared between them, the ancient demons let loose and finally allowed release.

She could never like him, but at least she could understand him.  Faced with the same choice, they had each made different decisions.  One chose love, one chose duty.  And they were still living with the results of those decisions.

"No," he murmured softly, looking at her face.  "You haven't changed."

"Yes, Imhotep, I have changed," Evy said quietly, drying her tears.  "I am not Nefertiri, although in some ways she is a part of me.  And you are not the Imhotep that I knew.  You are not the Imhotep I–I liked, the Imhotep I respected."

"I am the same man, Princess," he replied arrogantly, but Evy interrupted him.

"You believe a human man can undergo the Hom Dai and emerge unscathed?  Parts of the old Imhotep are in you, surely, but the new Imhotep–the dark, unholy being you have become–is the man I see before me."

"You throw meaningless words at me.  I am as I am!"  Imhotep stepped back.

He stepped away from her, his face partly obscured by shadows.  "Plot and scheme, Nefertiri.  Judge my soul.  I care not."  His face disappeared into the shadows.  "_I rule this world_."  The words, and their inescapable truth, echoed in the dim chamber.  He turned and disappeared into the dark.

Evy stood alone in the quiet, her heart slowly returning to its normal beat.  She took a deep breath, the tension coiled inside her body slowly beginning to dissipate.  

She acknowledged his statement.  He did rule the world.  He held her son's life in his hands.  He could kill her husband at any instant.  He could destroy the entire world and rule nothing but a barren wasteland.

But risks had never stopped her before.

Her husband lived.  Her son lived.  And it was enough.

She would fight Imhotep.  She would never surrender to him.  And someday, in the hereafter, she knew in her heart, she would find Rick, and Jonathan, and Ardeth–and they would be free.

***

Alex sat alone on the floor of his little chamber.  He leaned his head back against the wall and relaxed, sighing deeply.  His mum had gone off to clean more desks and tables and bureaus, leaving Alex to amuse himself.  Although he had started trying to build another mouse-trap like the one he'd constructed at home, he had eventually given up.  His heart just wasn't in it.  Mulling over his situation instead, he tugged at the long strands of blond hair that fell forward over his eyes.

He hadn't seen Imhotep or the evil lady in weeks, and it make him glad.  He wasn't afraid of them, exactly, but he was afraid of what they could do to his mum or dad.

For the first time in his short life, he understood what his parents had always been trying to protect him from.  Alex had never faced the reality of losing a fight.  He and his family had never lost before.  They had won, every time.

He had always wanted to be in on the adventures of his parents, and they had tried to hold him back.  He almost never listened.  He had thrown himself into battles, doing everything he could to help his mum and dad, putting himself in harm's way.  He had stood up to Imhotep.  He had shot rocks at the men trying to trap his parents in the temple.  And he had even outwitted Loch-nah more than once.  In adventure, he saw only bravery and glory, and he had believed that it would always be like this.

He missed himself then.

Everything was different.  He no longer had his home or his friends to play with.  Uncle Jon was no longer around to help him tease his parents.  His mum was different than she used to be.

And he missed his dad terribly.

His mum had explained that he was still alive, and that they had to be brave and strong and wait for him.  He could hear his mum's voice, repeating what had become her token phrase: "Your dad has saved me every single time I ever needed him.  He'll come for us, sweetheart.  I know it."

But Alex was not eight years old anymore.  He was nearly ten.  And he understood more than his mum thought.  But he didn't tell her, because it would only make her upset.  She was trying desperately to protect him, to shield him from the terrible truths in their lives.

Alex wasn't deceived.  But he wouldn't hurt her by letting her know.  He loved his mum more than anything, and she was all that he had left.

And deep down he was afraid that he would never see his dad again.  He had always been the bravest man Alex had known, barreling in with his guns blazing and battling the bad guys to save his family.  But where was he?  He should have rescued them by now.

Alex was afraid that he would live the rest of his life in this cold palace, with nothing.  And with time, even his memories would fade.  Soon he would lose his dad altogether.

Alex closed his eyes and allowed tears to slowly fall down his cheeks.

He sniffled and then angrily wiped them away.  He had never lost his courage before, and he wouldn't lose it now.  He was the son of Rick O'Connell and Evelyn Carnahan, for Christ's sake.  He remembered Uncle Jon's comment and smiled in spite of himself: "Whoa, Alex, you've got _some_ genes."

He remembered how he had spoken to Imhotep on the train, how he had thumbed his nose at what had made grown men cower in fear.  He stuck his lower lip out defiantly.  While his mother was still brave, and his father and Uncle Jon and Ardeth all struggling to free them–he wouldn't lose hope.  He would be brave until the end, just like his dad and mum.  He wouldn't let them down.

The Priest could take away his childhood, but Alex was still one hell of a kid.

***

Imhotep turned, walking briskly away from the chamber, his hands clenched at his sides.  He strode down the long hallway, his face a perfect mask.  But underneath his calm exterior a fierce battle was being waged.  He approached the library, banging open the ornate wooden doors, and pacing up and down the room.

He wanted revenge on Nefertiri, he wanted to see her in pain, he wanted to condemn her actions.  And yet, some part of him, some niggling essence of his former humanity, clawed at his soul.  He had sacrificed everything for love.  But was it enough?  Had he made the right choice?

Nefertiri had abandoned earthly love, and in her latest rebirth she had been rewarded with the mate of her soul.  Which choice was right?  Was there any answer?  Would there ever be an answer?

He had always been so sure of himself, of all of his actions to conquer the world and defend his rule.  He had never questioned it, he was so sure it was what the Gods had designed.  For the first time, Imhotep grappled with his decisions.  And his confusion made him go nearly wild with rage.  _The Gods themselves were toying with him..._

He suddenly stopped, growling with frustration, and with a sweep of his hand, turned and forced a huge pot off the table and onto the floor, where it shattered with a resounding crash and sent pieces flying.  He stood, sweating, looking at the destruction on the floor.  But it appeared to have alleviated some of his anger, for he looked more calm and composed as he considered the chaos he had created.

"My Lord?" A timid voice asked from the doorway.

"What?!?" Imhotep raged, turning around to look at the messenger, furious that someone had witnessed this rare lack of self-control.

"Forgive me, my Lord," the little man said, bowing obsequiously and fluttering his hands nervously.  "But I have important information, information they insisted I bring to you at once."

"What is it?" Imhotep growled.

"We have captured a Med Jai, found wandering in the desert."

Imhotep turned and looked at the little man more carefully, considering, his anger waning.  This was very interesting indeed.

A surviving Med Jai could tell him what he wanted to know about the survival of the tribe, and about the fate of Ardeth Bay.

"Bring him to me.  Now," he ordered coldly.  He would no longer think.  He would act as he had been.  The world was his.  Why should he worry about some choices made long ago?

***


	22. The Great Chain of Being

**Chapter Twenty-Two: The Great Chain of Being**

***

Imhotep's guards shoved the Med Jai unceremoniously to the floor.  He crouched, holding his side in pain where the guards had kicked him repeatedly.  He let out a low moan, holding his head.

Imhotep regarded him suspiciously.  He was wearing the dark robes of the Med Jai, but he didn't look to be more than eighteen, twenty years old at most.

The mummy guard gave him another kick and the Med Jai fell to his side, holding his bruises and moaning.

"Enough," Imhotep commanded briskly, walking around the fallen man, examining him from above.  He was young and had all of the ceremonial tattoos, so he clearly was as the messenger had said–a surviving Med Jai.  Imhotep looked more closely at the man's injuries.  He was bruised and slightly bloodied, but he would certainly survive.

"Stand him up," Imhotep ordered, and immediately the Med Jai was standing before him, held up by the two guards.  The desert warrior slumped against the mummies, exhausted and without any strength of his own.

Imhotep examined him further.  Finally, he spoke.  "You are a Med Jai?"

The wounded man nodded pitifully.

"What is your name?"

"Adil," the young man breathed, trying not to speak for the pain in his chest.

"Where have you come from?"  Imhotep asked.

"The desert," Adil muttered, trying to ignore the throbbing in his side.  "I have been wandering–"

"Yes?" Imhotep prompted.

"I have been wandering for so long," the Med Jai got out, slumping further.

Imhotep decided to try a different tactic.  "You know the man Ardeth Bay?"

A brief smile flickered across the man's face, for a second masking the exhaustion and pain.  "Yes, I did.  He was a great man."

Imhotep paused.  "Was?"

The Med Jai nodded, his head drooping.  "Praise be to Allah he did not live to see this."

Imhotep felt so relieved, he was surprised at himself.  He hadn't even admitted to himself how much he feared Ardeth Bay.  "When did he die?"

The Med Jai lowered his head.  "With everyone else when you attacked our villages."

A self-satisfied smile spread over the Priest's face.  "How many people survived?"

Adil's knees buckled and the guards had to hoist him up again.  He did not respond.

"How many are dead, Med Jai?" Imhotep demanded.

Adil refused to respond, staring into the Priest's eyes.

"Answer me, dog, or I will have you killed," Imhotep stated calmly.

"I won't," Adil gasped out, "be of much use to you then."

Imhotep smirked.  "Let me make this clear, Med Jai.  I have twenty-two of your comrades in my slave quarters.  If you don't tell me what I want to know, I'll have all of you killed."

Adil's eyes widened.

"Do you understand me?" the Priest asked icily.

Adil nodded.

"Then tell me what I want to know."

The Med Jai hesitated.  Finally, he spoke.  When he did, his eyes were lowered in shame.  His entire body shook with humiliation.  "They are all dead.  There were only a few survivors.  All of the women and children died.  I wandered–"

Silence engulfed the room.  "Seat him," Imhotep ordered, and Adil was placed, none too gently, into a chair.  The guards stood beside his slack form.

Finally, Adil continued.  "I wandered, for so long.  There were four of us.  We were the only ones left.  We were vagabonds, with no home, no people.  We lived like wildmen in the desert.  I, I sometimes think I was mad, we all were.  Our hair and beards grew, we dug scrapes in the sand, we hardly knew each other.  We had nothing–" his voice broke.  "We wandered for weeks on the brink of madness–"

Imhotep regarded him carefully, and Adil missed the twinge of–what was it?–empathy?–that flicked across his features.  But it was gone as quickly as it had come.

"And then one day I came to and I was alone.  They had died, or wandered off to die alone.  The desert had swallowed them–" Adil squeezed his eyes shut to push away all of the memories.

Imhotep nodded grimly.  "Enough."  He turned to his guards.  "Take him to the infirmary.  When he's recovered, take him to the slave quarters and introduce him to his new duties."

The guards grabbed and dragged Adil out of the library.  As they pulled his heavy form down the hall, Imhotep missed the brief look that graced his features.  Adil smiled, a smile of weary triumph.  Then, it was gone.

***

Imhotep sat down in a plush chair, mulling over the arrival of the Med Jai–what was his name?–Adil.

So the Med Jai were all dead, Imhotep thought with a sneer.  After three millennia of trying to escape their clutches, he had finally triumphed.  After three millennia of trying to destroy him, he had finally succeeded in destroying them.  He could almost laugh at the irony.

Well, he could breathe easier now.  He didn't have to worry about some pathetic Med Jai attack.  He had always had a little niggling fear about escaped Mad Jai, because they were the only ones who knew the power of the books.  But now he was invincible: He had possession of the Gold Book.  Nefertiri, her Med Jai, and their son were enslaved.  And Ardeth Bay and all of the Med Jai were dead.  There was no one left to threaten him.

Now Imhotep could relax.

He stood up suddenly, going and checking his reflection carefully in the golden mirror.  He knew exactly where he would go.

***

"Anck-su-namun," he murmured, coming across her in her chambers.

She was listlessly reading a scroll.  "Imhotep," she said, her face brightening momentarily.  But the shine left her features almost as soon as it had come.

"What ails you, my love?" he murmured, sitting down beside her.

"I am well, I am well," she responded, smiling slightly.  "I'm happy now that you're here."

"I know you've been lonely," he said regretfully.  "I thought the translations would help–" he said, gesturing to the discarded scroll, a translation of one of Plato's philosophical writings.

She half-smiled.  "Indeed, it was very thoughtful of you.  But, you know, I have never been a great reader, nor philosopher."

He started.  "Of course, I'm sorry, I just asked them to translate the first document they had–oh, I will ask them to do another–can you forgive me?"

The sweet look on his face, and his desire to please her, softened her heart, and she reached forward and clasped his hand within her own small one.  "Of course I forgive you," she said teasingly, "but you would be the one suffering if I keeled over suddenly and died from boredom."

"I would never forgive myself," he said seriously, and a thought flashed through Anck-su-namun's mind: had he completely lost his sense of humor?  They never really laughed together like they used to.

"I am thinking of traveling soon to the Americas, love," he began, changing topics.  "There have been some publications, some leaflets and pamphlets scattered on the streets, that–well, they're propaganda, really.  They have to be stopped."

"What do they say?" Anck-su-namun asked curiously.

"They encourage people to disobey me, to resist my rule," Imhotep said reluctantly, wanting to shield her forever, but completely unable to lie to her.

This was no true surprise.  Anck-su-namun had overheard enough from his advisors and translators and enough from the gossip of the palace slaves to know that many people resented Imhotep's rise to power and his methods for governing the world.

"Well, what are their grievances?" she asked.  "Perhaps you should listen and grant them some of their wishes."  Even in the Ancient days of the Pharaohs, rulers had periodically listened to petitions from commoners and even occasionally granted requests.  

Imhotep looked at her like she was insane.  "I cannot do that, Anck-su-namun."

She was surprised.  "Why not?"

"Because if I give them one concession, they will want a thousand others, all leading to my removal from power!  Don't you see that the world must be ruled with an iron fist?"

"But Imhotep," she began, "some of these people have suffered greatly.  You had such compassion for the hurt and the sick in the old days.  Don't you remember?"

"Yes," he retorted, "I remember.  But caring for the sick and tolerating uprisings are completely different things." 

"But perhaps if you granted them some of their needs, made their lives a little easier, they would not fight you."

"You have such compassion for the conquered masses," Imhotep responded bitterly, "and yet you do not remember that I _did_ care for them.  I made sure there were hospitals and schools and manual labor jobs for all.  I have given them many things, and they are ungrateful!"

"But darling," Anck-su-namun began, patting his arm, "you know that they do not want only your hospitals and schools.  What they want is what all human beings want, what we ourselves wanted, freedom a–"

"Enough!"  Imhotep exploded, standing up angrily.  "What is the point of ruling the world if my word is not law?!"

Anck-su-namun gasped and her hands flew to cover her mouth.  She shrunk from him, shocked at his outburst.  He had never yelled at her like that before.  Where was the old Imhotep, the man she had loved, the man who had love and compassion and generosity in his heart?

"Imhotep..." she whispered, her face full of uncertainty and pain.  "You frighten me sometimes."  She looked up at him closely, the next words tumbling out of her mouth before she could help herself.  "You are not the same–"   She stopped abruptly.

The words sent a shiver running down his spine.  So it had come to this.

He slowly backed away from her, his mind whirling with possible explanations.  But only one thought ran through his confused mind.

She understood that he was no longer the old Imhotep: the man he had been in Ancient times, the man she had fallen in love with, the man she had died for.  Imhotep's heart wrenched in pain as he turned and fled down the hallway.  He could hear Anck-su-namun calling after him, but he could not stop.  He strode down the corridors, his mind whirling furiously, her words seared into his brain.  _"You are not the same."_  They echoed, taunting and tormenting him.

He came to am abrupt halt in front of a large bronze mirror.  He paused, staring at his reflection.  His handsome, unruffled countenance was always the same, his body fit and trim as ever.  He looked like a king, every inch a Pharaoh.  But what was he now, really?

He was human and God, man and demon.  He was all, yet he was none.  There were no words to describe what Imhotep had become.

A part of him was truly human–the part that loved with fierce abandon, the part that was arrogant and cruel, the part that desired revenge–the part that felt compassion for Nefertiri and her Med Jai.  

But there was the part of him that felt nothing as he swept a million soldiers into the sea.  The part of him that could move mountains with a flick of his wrist.  The inner part of his heart that was laced through with hatred and callous indifference.

His fingertips could scrape the rim of the heavens, but his soul was trapped in the underworld.

He owned the world, yet he was not happy with the love of his life.  Why?  Why could he not be happy on earth?  Even as he asked the question, the answer snaked through him, slicing his heart with its cold truth.  _Because this world is not your world..._

Her words echoed in his mind.  "Ah, Anck-su-namun," he whispered.  "I am not who I was..."

And Imhotep, damned High Priest of Osiris, Ruler of the world, Pharaoh of the Day and the Night, found himself on an earth that was no longer his own.  Surely this was some ultimate joke played by the Gods themselves, and he could almost feel the breath of their laughter on his burnt back.  He had all he could desire.  But he was a man without a home.  He was a man without a rightful place in the universe.

Imhotep shuddered, turning his face away from the glass.  His face was half visible in the torchlight, but the other half was masked in the shadows.__

_He did not belong in the great chain of being..._

***

Far from the strife and pain of human life, in a room of blue and gold, the Ancient Gods continued their discussion of the fate of the earth.

"You have said you would plead the case of the Priest and the Concubine.  What have you to say?" the Goddess asked, the words flowing silkily through the air.

The second voice answered after a pause, a fragment of sound in the wind.  "I have always felt a...sympathy for him.  His follies have been those of humankind–arrogance, ambition, desire, and above all, love."

There was silence, the two eternal bodies contemplating the words that still hung in the air.  "It is as you say," the first voice answered languidly.  "But the Priest has gone too far.  His purposes served our own, at least for a time.  But the terror must end."

"Using the powers of darkness to serve the powers of light?" the second voice asked wryly, sounding ephemeral and yet...as though it possessed a trace of humanity.

"Indeed, sometimes it is necessary, daughter," the first voice responded calmly.  "The Priest believed in us, and so for a short while we gave him power.  But he does not belong in the world.  He no longer has a place there.  Perhaps...I misjudged him."  The voice paused, considering its own words.  "It is true that he believes he serves us with his bloodshed.  But it is not so."

"But is blood not sometimes the required sacrifice?" the ethereal voice responded with a hint of a challenge.

Pleased, the first voice continued.  "You indeed are learning.  Blood is the ultimate sacrifice we can demand, and sometimes only it will slake our need.  But blood is like life and death: inevitable and necessary, but only in the natural order of the world.  Blood split out of turn disrupts the great chain of being.  This we cannot allow."

"I understand.  So what of their fate?" the first voice asked slightly impatiently, although unmistakably the voice of a God.

"This, I can say: fate has turned the great wheel seven times, each soul a spoke on the wheel of life.  Without even one of the ancient souls the wheel will not turn...

"But it spins again, as they have found each other once again...around and around, like the winding in and out of the shuttle, back and forth and the golden thread turns to cloth..."  The voice trailed off, a mere whisper in the wind.  "Each has been many things: peasant, slave, mother, father, warrior, lover, leader.  They have each lived many lives, but after long last they have found each other once again..." the voice, filmy and luminous, repeated the haunting phrase.

The intonation continued, answering her partner's unspoken question.  "I cannot say how the story will end, daughter.  You know that we cannot control the intertwining lives that humans weave with each other.  Their fate lies together, but the ultimate destiny they create for themselves is their own." 

"So the journey has been written, but not the destination," the second voice observed, the melodious sounds twisting and winding together in the air.

The divinity responded, the words flowing like silk, ethereal and wholly beautiful.  "They have the ancient tools.  What they do with them is beyond our reach..." A close listener would have heard the glimmer of a smile reflected in her words.

The voice continued, sweet and tinkling, like the sound of distant wood chimes.  "After long last they have found each other once again...the wheel spins for the final time...

*** 

Notes: **Mommints:** Feel free to bug me for advice anytime! And I'm glad I made you feel bad for Immy, that was the idea :-)  **Eviefan:** Thanks! I always appreciate your comments, I'm glad you find the baddies as interesting asI do :-) ** Soph:** How could I get tired of your comments? LOL.  Seriously, I'm always happy to hear from you.  **Anya:**  I'm so glad that the story makes you think.  That's one of the best compliments I could ever receive.  You've made me swell up with pride ;-) ** Debora:** Thanks!  Of course you're forgiven.  About the fate of the Med Jai...wait and see ;-) ** Ruse:** "Poor confused jerk" indeed.  That's such a perfect way of describing him, hehe.  Thanks for the comments, I'm sure we'll continue to inspire each other–"Speak Softly" is a great story.

And to everyone else...drop me a review sometime, it would make my day ;-)

***


	23. The Plan

**Chapter Twenty-Three: The Plan**

***

Ardeth, Jonathan, Pierre, and Hubert sat outside on rocks as the late afternoon sun burned down on them.  They had attempted to find what shade they could, but there wasn't much.  Down the little dirt path were several tents, rustling slightly in the meager breeze.

The Westerners had been in the Med Jai camp for several days and had adapted quickly to the rhythms of desert life.  Jonathan, having lived in Cairo for several years, adapted the quickest, used to the arid environment and oppressive African heat.  Similarly, Pierre, having lived in various squalid slums and shanties over the course of his life, found no problem sleeping like a baby on rough desert sand.

Jonathan felt comfortable in Egypt, and had even called it his home at one time.  He was used to the gritty, burnt feel of living in the desert.  And Egypt excited him–before Imhotep it had held promises of money and adventure.  But he knew his relationship to Egypt was nothing like Evy's.  Egypt ran in her blood.  It was a part of her soul.

The tribe had been friendly and had welcomed them, offering them all of the available comforts.  But despite their general geniality, most of the Med Jai kept their distance.  They had been in seclusion for so long, hiding in the mountains, they were content just to watch them from afar.  They were awed by Jonathan, the man from legend, who, almost like a savior, had appeared out of the desert with the Black Book of the Dead.  He was a hero, a miracle, and the men and women held back, their emotions tinged with respect and hope.

The four men sat sprawled on various rocks.  Jonathan leaned back heavily against a stone slab, his eyes closed against the heat.  With the fairest skin, Jonathan had already developed quite a sunburn.  Opposite him Pierre sat, a shirt wrapped about his head, tensely perched on the edge of his rock, playing with a loose thread on his robe.  Hubert sat cross-legged on a flat stone.  He did not say much, awed by the three older men around him, but his eyes and ears took in everything.

Adil had left two days ago, and all of the men were nervous as to his fate.  There was no chance of reaching him or finding out if he had succeeded in reaching the slave's quarters.  Ardeth was especially tense and afraid for his friend, although he did not say anything directly.

Abruptly the Med Jai stood and began pacing, flicking a fly from his ear as he worked off some nervous energy.

To distract him from his worries, Jonathan spoke, breaking the heavy stillness of the oppressive desert heat.  "Why don't we continue discussing our plan," he suggested, hoping to draw Ardeth into more productive conversation.

"Yes, yes," Ardeth answered, still pacing, although Jonathan noticed his friend's hands were more relaxed.  "You're right, we still have much to discuss."

No one spoke.

"Well, we know that we have to get to the Book of the Living," Pierre offered, restating what they had already decided just to get things rolling. 

"Yes," Ardeth picked up, pausing.  "We know now that Imhotep has the Book somewhere in his palace.  We have to find it."

"Once we find it, we can easily open it with the key," Jonathan explained eagerly.  "Then, when we read the special words, his immortal soul is dragged back to the underworld.  It's quite a site, old boy.  All blue and mystical."  Jonathan began gesturing descriptively with his arms and wide eyes as he told his tale.  "A chariot comes rushing in and tears his soul away.  Then we pounce on him with knives and guns and swords and whatever else in lying around.  He's totally helpless.  And he'll be really surprised to see blood gushing from his body.  That look on his face is a killer.  Seriously, this'll be fun."

Hubert stifled his laughter while Ardeth looked amusedly at Jonathan.  "So that's what I missed?" he asked wryly.

"Is reading from the sacred book the only way to kill him?" Pierre interjected curiously, lighting one of the last cigarettes he had brought with him from Cairo.

"Yes," Ardeth replied, turning at the Frenchman.  "Only then will Imhotep become mortal."

"Wait, hold on," Pierre interjected hurriedly after taking a quick drag.  "I thought you said that reading the special words would kill him."

"It won't kill him but it will take away his powers," Jonathan explained, scratching his chest through his dirty shirt.

"Oh, ok," Pierre said, running his hands through his dirty blond hair.  "So reading the sacred words is the only way to make him _mortal_."  He looked up peskily at Jonathan.  "There is a difference."

"Actually," Jonathan began, thinking and remembering.  "There is another way to make Imhotep mortal."

Hubert looked up, curious.  "What is it?"

Ardeth, thinking along the same lines as Jonathan, shook his head.  "It is of no help to us," he said firmly.

But Pierre was curious too, and more insistent than Hubert.  "Even so, what is it?"

Ardeth shook his head reluctantly.  "It is of no use to us, and I don't think you would believe us anyway."

Pierre protested.  "Come on, you can't bring it up and then say nothing.  Try me.  After all I've seen in this new world, I think I can go on a little faith here."

Jonathan took a deep breath, remembering a time when he was inside the pyramid of Ahm Shere, a day that seemed like a thousand years ago.  "There are only two ways that Imhotep can be made mortal.  The first way is if the holy words are read from the Gold Book of the Living.  And the second way...is for the God Anubis to strip Imhotep of his powers himself."

Pierre's cigarette hung out of the corner of his mouth.  "The God Anubis?"

Ardeth stepped in, nodding firmly.  "Yes."

"How do you know?  How do you know that the God Anubis could just take away his powers?"  Pierre looked at them expectantly.  Jonathan and Ardeth stared back at him until the answer hit him full in the face.  "Oh," he said sheepishly.

Ardeth nodded slowly.  "I was not there, but in his second rising, Imhotep walked over a sacred mark on the temple floor of the Ahm Shere pyramid..." he paused, considering his words.  "That mark was placed between two jackal-headed statues, it was a place sacred to Anubis."

Ardeth bit his lip, thinking.  "I do not know why Anubis interfered with his chosen one...but when Imhotep stepped on the mark his immortality was ripped from him."

Pierre considered his words carefully, and Jonathan almost smiled, practically seeing the wheels turning in his friend's head.

"So, if we could get that symbol, that sacred place, and could make Imhotep walk across it–"

But Ardeth was shaking his head.  "It does not work like that.  The mark itself is powerless.  But because it belongs to Anubis, through the divine will it can become a great thing of power.  Do you understand?"

Pierre slumped back dejectedly.  "Yeah," he said.

"If I, or Jonathan, or even Imhotep, walked across the symbol again, nothing would happen unless Anubis decided to intervene, and use his power."

Jonathan nodded in agreement, shielding his eyes from the sun.

Pierre sighed.  "Ok, so we know that the only way to defeat Imhotep is to read from the magical Gold Book."

"After his powers are gone, it is possible to kill him," Jonathan answered, nodding, but his mind was a thousand miles away.  He was traveling back in time, remembering the only time in history a human being had ever ripped away Imhotep's powers: when Evy had read from the Gold Book in 1923, sending Imhotep's immortal soul back to the hell from whence it came.  

He remembered the look of utter triumph on her face as the chariot swept in.  She was so young and so brave.  He felt an ache in his chest, the ache that came whenever he thought of Evy.  His little sister.  The thought of her imprisoned by Imhotep made him want to scream.

"Wait," Pierre interjected into the silence, struck with a new thought.  "Isn't Imhotep a kung-fu master or something?  I heard he had no trouble beating up your brother-in-law even without his powers."

Jonathan hesitated, roughly called into the present.  He forced Evy from his mind.  He would be of no use to anyone if he was stalking around inventing ways to torture Imhotep in his mind.  "Yes, he is a skilled fighter.  But he can be overpowered.  And with the element of surprise...I think we have a good chance."

Pierre nodded seriously, taking another long drag on the cigarette to calm his nerves.

"Since when do you smoke?" Jonathan asked irritatedly, as Pierre blew gray rings into the clear air.

"Since I've been under just a little bit of tension," Pierre responded, holding the smoldering cigarette between two fingers.

"So we know we must read from the Gold Book.  Imhotep has it.  How are we going to get it?" Ardeth asked rhetorically, pacing across the rocky ground as he thought.

Silence met his question.

"We need the Book of the Living if we are to make him mortal," Jonathan murmured to himself, getting up and joining Ardeth to pace across the small rocky pass.   "But we don't have the Book of the Living.  We only have the Book of the Dead."

"Which means all we can do is raise the dead," Ardeth said, pausing to look at Jonathan.

"We can raise the dead," Jonathan agreed, looking at Ardeth.  "And with the Med Jai army, with the element of surprise, we might be able to free the slaves."

"True," Ardeth said, thinking it over.  "But what will that accomplish?"

"There are over twenty Med Jai imprisoned there, including Rick and Adil," Jonathan pointed out.

"We will need to free the slaves," Ardeth agreed.  "But if we do that right away, Imhotep will notice immediately.  We need to find the book, first and foremost.  We need to sneak into the palace unnoticed."

"But how can we sneak into the palace without Imhotep noticing?" Hubert spoke up, voicing the major problem on everyone's minds.

Ardeth sighed.  Jonathan wrung his hands.  Pierre attempted to hide behind his cigarette.

"We need some kind of diversion," Hubert pronounced, staring at the older men.

"Well, obviously, old boy," Jonathan began, but Ardeth stopped him, a gleam coming into his eye.

"I have an idea."  He looked around, nodding slowly to himself as he went over it in his mind.  A smile flitted across his face as he thought, a smile of satisfaction.  He looked at the three men around him.  "And it just might work."

***

Deep into the night, the four men sat, discussing the details of their plan.  Ardeth explained his ideas, and Jonathan and Pierre jumped in, adding parts and making other aspects better.  They ruled out ideas that were too risky.   They discussed and argued and complained and disagreed.  

But, slowly, the plan began to take shape.

Every few hours some women from the tribe would arrive with water and stew, coaxing the men to eat and maintain their strength.  But the four of them continued.

They discussed who should complete each part of the plan.  Finally roles were assigned, so each person had a job and knew exactly what they had to do.  They made up alternate plans, what they would do if one part did not work, what they would do if one of them died or was unable to accomplish their goal.  They went over the stock of weapons the Med Jai had managed to salvage after their villages were destroyed.  They discussed weather and timing and positioning around Imhotep's palace.  They went over every miniature detail.

Finally, towards dawn, Ardeth sat back, nodding, a satisfied and hopeful smile on his weary face.

"It's a good plan," Pierre said admiringly, stretching out his sore limbs.

"We really have a chance, old boy," Jonathan agreed.

Ardeth stood in the morning light, stretching out his coiled muscles, looking down at his friends.  "I must inform the council of our plan."  He smiled to himself, adding softly,  "I think they might even like it."

Jonathan stood, slapping Ardeth on the back, fighting his desire to collapse somewhere, curl up, and sleep for half a day.  "We've never lost before.  We're going to stage the largest, most bizarre battle the world has ever seen."

"That we will, my friend," Ardeth replied.  He met Jonathan's eyes, and an ironic smile crossed his handsome lips.  "Imhotep will never be expecting it.  He thinks we're all dead."

That was the final trump card they possessed:  Imhotep's ignorance.

*** 

In the late afternoon, after all four of the men had collapsed and napped, Jonathan lay awake on his pallet.  He had slept for several hours but had awoken recently, anticipation and tension making it difficult for him to relax.  He could hear Pierre's heavy breathing next to him, oddly comforting in the dark silence of the tent.

His thoughts drifted to Evy.  The forming of their plan had given him a tangible hope of actually seeing Evy again.  Finally, in a few days time, he would have a chance of saving her, of rescuing her from her prison.  He missed her so much.

Evy and Rick and Alex had given Jonathan a real family.  He knew he wouldn't make a good husband, but he was a damn good brother, friend, and uncle.  Evy had given him that opportunity.  His baby sister had given him a home.  She had given him a life.

Jonathan ached to be able to do something real in return.

And Alex...he would be able to see Alex again, too.  His little nephew, who enjoyed getting into trouble just as much as Jonathan did.  He smiled at his many memories of Alex running around and thwarting his parents.  Alex, who he hadn't seen since he was eight years old.

Alex was ten now, Jonathan realized with a jolt.  Somehow he had imagined that everything had remained the same, that everything had been stagnant while Imhotep ruled.  But it was not so.  Alex would be bigger and different than when he knew him last.  He was growing up without his father in the palace of a dictator.  Jonathan swallowed in the dark.  He had missed some of the most precious moments of Alex's childhood.

They had all lost almost two years of their lives.  But they could get them back.  They could defeat Imhotep and reclaim their lives.  Jonathan clenched his jaw, turning over slightly on the mat.  He would face Imhotep himself, alone, before he would back down.  He owed Evy that much.

"You two awake?" Ardeth's voice jolted Jonathan from his thoughts.  The tent flap rustled and then swung open, revealing Ardeth and Hubert, looking down on him, grinning.  Bright light flooded into the dark space and hurt Jonathan's eyes.

"Well, now I am," Jonathan replied, rubbing his eyelids.

"Time to get up, my friend," Ardeth said, moving into the tent and prodding Pierre's heavy body with his foot.  "There is news."  Pierre lay unmoving, his mouth open, his head flung back, and his arms flopped out to his sides. 

Pierre lay, completely unconscious.  Ardeth prodded him again with his foot, to no response.

Jonathan sat up, grinning.  "Wait, Ardeth, let me try."  He leaned over, placing his mouth right beside Pierre's ear.  Suddenly he shouted angrily, "Give me back my wallet, you dirty thief!"

Pierre jerked awake, sitting up frantically as he reached for the nonexistent gun in his holster.  "I'm no thief, you swine!" he shouted, opening his eyes, but unable to see behind his curtain of dirty blonde hair.

Jonathan started laughing hysterically.  Pierre finally brushed his hair aside, only to see Jonathan, Ardeth, and Hubert laughing at him.

"Very funny," he muttered, flopping back down on his pallet.

"I'm glad you're awake," Ardeth continued, smiling.  "We have good news.  The elders approve of the plan and have given us their blessings."

Jonathan was still laughing over Pierre.  "I knew they would!" he responded to Ardeth while grinning at Pierre as the Frenchman attempted to regain some of his dignity.

"We now must teach the warriors their role and what they must do," Ardeth continued seriously.  "Every man and woman in this village will fight.  We must prepare them."

Before Ardeth could continue, a voice called to him from outside the tent.

"Ardeth?"

Ardeth opened the flap, letting sunlight filter once again into the dark interior.  "Yes?"

Dalil stood outside the tent, his robe dirty and stained.  "Excuse me, sir," the young man said, "but I have news.  Hamir and I have just returned from scouting."

Ardeth nodded.  "Yes, my son?"

"Imhotep has departed the palace."

Ardeth blinked, surprised.  "He's gone?"

Dalil nodded.

"Where's he gone?" Jonathan inquired from the floor.

"We think the Americas, but we cannot be sure."

Ardeth bit his lip, thinking to himself.  "When will he return?"

"I do not know, but he never stays away for more than a week."

Ardeth nodded, turning to his companions.  Silence descended as the three men stared back at him, waiting for his judgement.

Ardeth issued his decree.  It was the command of a warrior, of a leader, of a man born and bred to rule his people and lead them to triumph.

"The night Imhotep returns, we strike."

And they would do his will.

***

**Notes:** Thanks to everyone for reviewing, and even to the people who haven't, thanks for reading.  I got a little slowed down on this chapter, I hope it's not too boring.  I know I've been building up a lot of tension, but the (long) battle sequence starts in just a few chapters, I promise.  I hope it's worth the wait ;-)****

**Soph****: **Trust me, I'll never get tired of hearing your compliments, lol. Thank you, and I hope it's confusing in a good way :-) **Deana:** Thanks! More Ardeth, as you requested *grin*  **Mbooker****:** Did you read chap. 22?  Thanks, I'm glad you liked Alex, I thought it was time I added something from his POV.  **Ruse****:** Sorry I was delayed with this chapter.  I started writing chapter 26 and got distracted, sigh.  You know how it is ;-) Thanks for your comments.  You're an Immy expert, so if you approve I know I'm doing something right :- )  **Jessie McDonald:** Thanks!  I'm glad you're enjoying the complexities I've tried to show in Imhotep's character...no person is 100% good or bad, and I'm happy you're getting that from my writing.  **Aulizia****:** Glad you're back, I missed you when you didn't review chap. 21 right away! Thanks for the comments.  Glad you liked the God's part.  Hehe, I'm a little sadistic, I want you to feel sorry for Immy. ;-)  **First Crush**: Thank you for reviewing.  I'm so glad you liked the God's part, I worked hard on that, trying to find just the right balance.  And thanks for signing in ;-)  **Elfpixie****:** Thanks for reviewing!  I'm glad I finally heard from you, and I'm glad you still like the story.**  Anya:** Thanks!  I'm glad you liked Adil, I've had fun writing him. I hope you continue to enjoy the story as it winds towards the finale.  

***


	24. Contact

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Contact**

***

Rick sat idly by the fire, warming his calloused and cracked hands.  The labor had really taken a toll on his hands.  Turning them over in the flickering light, Rick looked closely at the various scars and marks his flesh now bore, evidence of the work he had done for Imhotep.  He would bear some of these scars his entire life.

He could measure the passing of time by the state of his hands.

The desert cooled at night, and Rick shivered slightly, edging a tiny bit closer to the fire.  Several other men sat silently around it, taking from it what little warmth they could.

If he closed his eyes, Rick could see Evy's face, and if he concentrated, he could see Alex, grown a little, taller, but still with that boyish grin.  He was missing seeing his little boy grow up.

He opened his eyes, allowing himself to stare blindly into the flames, to float off into trance.  When he was lost in his memories and his hopes he momentarily forgot the harsh reality of his life.  Each night he picked a memory and held onto it, memorized it, clutched it to his chest and allowed the warmth of it to spread through him.  Anjelica, and the memories, were the only things that kept him sane.

Rick sighed, allowing the fire to warm his face.  The flames danced shadows across his face, illuminating and then hiding his weary features.  Tonight...tonight he would pick a special memory.  A memory untainted by Imhotep, by Egypt, by the presence of anyone but her.

Evy.

Their wedding night.

He felt his eyes dampen as he remembered their wedding night.  They had been married in Cairo but had spent a week in Rome for their honeymoon.  They had spent it lying in bed in a little hotel near the Spanish Steps, making love and holding each other and talking.  They had done a little sightseeing of course–Rick smiled when he remembered Evy's insistence, on their fifth day, that they actually leave the hotel room.  So they had wandered around and done a little shopping and even saw the Pantheon, on Evy's insistence.

It hadn't been hard to convince her to return to the hotel, though.

That week had been so wonderful, so magical.  He had been so nervous that Evy would suddenly realize that she had made a mistake, that she didn't really love him, that she could never be happy with a man so different from herself.  But that hadn't happened.  It had been a dream.  She loved him.  And she wanted him.

That week was probably Rick's happiest memory, the happiest memory he had in his entire arsenal of memories.  Evy, and him, alone, tangled in sheets.  Lying next to each other, listening to their breathing in the quiet room.

That had been heaven.

And this was hell.

"Rick."

He looked up as Anjelica sat quietly beside him.  There was no need for more words.  The comfort they gave each other was a silent, gentle support of understanding and acceptance.  Words were often unnecessary.  What was important was sitting next to each other, being there for each other.

Rick didn't feel like talking tonight.  The memory of Evy was too fresh and too painful.

They sat in silence for a long time.  The flames flickered over their faces in the dark, soothing their raw nerves.

Finally Anjelica spoke.  "I've been thinking," she said softly, "how glad I am that my father did not live to see this."

Rick looked up, taking a moment to gather his thoughts.  "He was a general.  He would have fought to the end."

She nodded softly, a tear glistening on her cheek.  "But if he'd been captured he would have died here, thinking every day on his failure, until it killed him.  Because that's the kind of man he was."

Rick smiled at her gently.  "But we're different.  We, too, think every day of our failure.  But we will never allow Imhotep to triumph over our minds, over our will."

"No," she answered softly.  "But sometimes I think it would be easier to just give up.  To stop caring and stop hating him and just give in."

"Never let him break your spirit," Rick said gently.

She brushed her stringy brown hair away from her face, her words sliding into the dark air.  "Every person has a breaking point."  

"I know," he replied.  "But I know you.  Imhotep will have to do a lot worse to get you to break."

She smiled at him gratefully.  "Thank you."

They lapsed again into silence.  But the silence was comforting, more than any words could ever be.  He could feel the warmth of Anjelica's body next to him–the body of a fellow soldier, a comrade, a friend.  They would stick through this together, no matter how long it took.

Rick would wait forever for his chance.  Imhotep could scar and mark his body, but he would never break his will.

***

As it grew late, Anjelica had to leave to rejoin the women's quarters, and she softly pressed her hand to his shoulder as she left.

Rick sighed, watching her dark form depart.  He should be going to bed soon, too, for it was only six hours or so until dawn.  He needed his sleep.  But this was the only free time they had each day, and Rick was loathe to relinquish any of it.

He would stay up, a little bit longer.

Two men on the other side of the fire were playing checkers on the sandy ground with pebbles and sticks.  Rick groaned to himself.  He could really use a swig of brandy.  He remembered life in the Cairo prison, and at least there, if you had the means, it was possible to trade for luxury goods–cigarettes, chocolate, a hair comb.   Here, there was nothing but desert.

Rick rubbed his red eyes.  He should really go to sleep.

He opened his eyes only to see the dark shape of a body sitting down next to him.

No one ever sat next to him except Anjelica.

He looked up sharply.  A young man was seated next to him, warming his hands by the fire.  He seemed calm, composed, as though he had no idea who Rick was.

Everyone knew who Rick was.  And that's why they stayed away from him.  Fear, awe, respect–all those things kept men distant.

But this one sat, warming his hands.  Rick tensed, on his guard.

"Can I help you, friend?" he asked, narrowing his eyes and looking him over.

The young man looked over at him.  "You are Rick O'Connell?"

Everyone knew who he was.  "Yes," he replied plainly.  "Who are you?"

The man turned his face towards him, and Rick could see the Med Jai tattoos there.  "A slave here, like yourself."

Rick's eyes danced over the dark marks on the young man's face.  He couldn't be more than twenty years old.  "I see."

"You are unhappy here," the darker man said, looking into the fire.

"Really?  What makes you say that?" Rick asked sarcastically.  His eyes flickered once again over the Med Jai tattoos.  They looked like Med Jai tattoos.  But it was equally possible that they weren't. 

"No one wants to be a slave," he replied calmly.

This could be trap sent by Imhotep.  Rick hesitated, unsure of how to respond.  Could Imhotep be trying to trick him into saying something that could get him executed?  But if Imhotep wanted him dead why wouldn't he just kill him?

"No, no one chooses to be a slave," Rick replied carefully.

"And all slaves want to be free," the man replied.  He paused, musing.  "And in time, they _will_ gain their freedom.  No people can be contained forever."

Rick gave a short laugh, trying to hide how intently he was studying his face.  "So you are an idealist."

"If you like," the stranger agreed, rubbing his hands gently near the fire.  "Nothing lasts forever.  Kings fall.  Power shifts."  He met Rick's eyes.  "Nothing is certain."

Rick turned away, looking into the flames.  He couldn't miss the obvious allusions the man was making to their own enslaved situation.  Was this a trap or not?  He couldn't tell yet.  "True," he replied guardedly.  "All things must come to an end.  Eventually."

"We think that they _will_ come to an end.  Soon," the other man said casually, as though he were commenting on the weather.  Rick tensed, felt his muscles coil into readiness.

"We?" he asked curiously.

"I have been sent.  To find you and tell you of recent...developments in the resistence movement."

"And what are these developments?" Rick asked, knowing he was treading on very dangerous ground.

"There will be a battle launched against Imhotep's palace.  Soon.  We must prepare the slaves to be ready."

The man looked quickly around the fire, looking carefully at the other slaves sitting nearby, but no one was paying them any attention.

Rick examined the man's face in silence.  He looked sincere.  But something was wrong with this picture.  How did the man get here?  How did he get that information?  And, as far as Rick knew, all of the surviving Med Jai were imprisoned by Imhotep.  Something was definitely wrong.

"And who exactly sent you?" Rick asked, his eyes seeking out a weapon he could use quickly if he had too.  He quickly picked out a stick in the fire, one end sticking into the night air, the other end smoldering with flame.  He tensed, ready to spring for it if he had to.

The younger man hesitated. "Ardeth Bay sent me."

Rick's heart shot up into his throat.

Without hesitating Rick grabbed the stranger by the throat with both hands, his eyes narrowed and glistening fiercely in the firelight.  "Wrong answer, buddy.  So who are you really working for?"

Adil gasped, his hands flapping feebly about his neck, but Rick was not holding him tight enough to suffocate him.

"My friend," Adil got out, "Ardeth is alive.  I have seen him."

Rick tightened his hold.  He would kill this little upstart for lying.  "Where?"

A few of the other slaves around the fire noticed the scuffle, but turned their faces away, ignoring Adil's gasps for air.  If there was going to be trouble, they wanted no part of it.

"Are those Med Jai tattoos even real?" Rick continued disdainfully.  "Or did you copy them from the corpse of a real man?"

"In the mountains, to the west."  Adil's chest racked with a cough as he attempted to draw more air into his lungs.

"And why exactly should I trust you?" Rick asked casually, a single flap of hair falling forward over his searing blue eyes.  He tightened his hold on Adil's neck.

"I will tell you," Adil gasped.  "I have a message, from Ardeth, your ancient brother."

Rick paused.  While most people knew Rick and Ardeth had fought together against Imhotep as brothers in spirit, most did not know that they had been best friends in ancient times.  It was possible the stranger was telling the truth.  If this really was a Med Jai he didn't want to kill him.  Having nothing to lose, Rick abruptly released him.  Adil gasped and breathed heavily, regaining his composure.  But he made no move to run away.

"Talk," Rick ordered as the younger man rubbed his sore neck.

Adil looked up at Rick, afraid but not angry.  Adil felt as though his eyes had been harshly pulled open.  He was just beginning to realize how difficult it was to live and survive in this treacherous, broken world. 

Adil had been protected his entire life.  He had never left the Med Jai village, and the past two years he had been isolated in the mountains.

But Rick O'Connell had been living utterly alone in the world, forced to rely on only his instincts, forced to survive with no one to trust.  This was where real men lived, fought, and died; where there was nowhere to hide.  Adil suddenly realized just how young and inexperienced he was.

"Let me speak plainly," Adil began shakily.  "Med Jai live.  Ardeth lives.  We have been plotting in the mountains since the day Imhotep began his battle against the world."

Rick's eyes narrowed.  "Prove it."

Adil nodded gently.  "Ardeth told me," he began, "that a man, a Rick O'Connell, was a Med Jai in heart and soul."  Adil looked into Rick's eyes.  "Ardeth called this man his brother–a man who would fight by his side, a man he would die for."

Rick relaxed slightly as he lowered his eyes, memories of Ardeth washing over him. 

"He explained to me," Adil continued slowly, "that this Western Med Jai had a certain mark on his wrist.  The sacred Med Jai symbol of brotherhood, of two kings over a pyramid."

Adil slowly reached over to Rick's arm.  His fingers grazed the material of Rick's shirt as he felt for just the right spot.  His fingers came to a rest right above the wrist.  He pressed down gently where the dark symbols hid underneath the flimsy fabric.  Rick's tattoo burned under his touch.

Adil slowly pushed up the fabric of the shirt, revealing the dark symbol imprinted on Rick's skin.  The tattoo glowed, illuminated, as the warm light from the flames danced over his skin.

Rick looked at the familiar mark, the mark he tried to conceal.  The mark that had tied him to Ardeth, that had tied him to his ancient past, that had revealed his fate to kill the Scorpion King.  That mark was the emblem, the evidence of his destiny as a warrior for God.  Rick's eyes dampened in the dark air.

His gaze wandered over his own tattoo, familiar and yet foreign, his gaze an invisible caress.  When he spoke, his voice was rough.  "What's your name?"

"Adil."

Rick nodded, still feeling his dark tattoo burning in the night air.  He raised his eyes to meet Adil's.

The younger man immediately saw that the sorrow was gone from his eyes.  The sadness had been replaced with a courage, a steely strength that made Adil suddenly remember why this man, too, was the stuff of legends.

"What other news is there of Ardeth and the Med Jai?" Rick asked.

Adil smiled genuinely.  "Great news.  Jonathan Carnahan arrived at the Med Jai camp just a week ago, with two other men."

Rick's mouth dropped open in surprise.  "Jonathan?"

Adil nodded.  "He brought the Black Book with him from Shanghai."

Rick attempted to conceal his surprise.  "You said Jonathan, as in my brother in law?"

Adil grinned.  "Yes.  And there is more news, as well, news Jonathan brought with him from Cairo and from the resistence movement in Paris."

Rick paused, looking suspiciously at Adil.  "_My_ Jonathan was working for the resistence movement in Paris?"

Adil nodded.

"And he brought the Black Book all the way from–did you say Shanghai?–to the Med Jai hidden in the desert mountains?"

"Yes."

Rick leaned back, letting out a long sigh, but his face was twisted with a mixture of amusement and sadness.  "A lot has changed since I knew him."

"But not all," Adil said, leaning forward.  "Your wife and son live."

Rick shot forward.  "What?" he gasped.

Adil nodded.  "Shhh," he cautioned, jerking his head to the other prisoners, looking on with passive interest.

"Tell me, man!" Rick whispered urgently, grasping and squeezing Adil's shoulder.

"Jonathan learned from various contacts that Evelyn and her son Alex are imprisoned within Imhotep's palace," Adil said quickly, twisting out of Rick's death-like grasp.  "Your wife and son are apparently unharmed."

Rick's voice was heavy with emotion.  "They live?" he asked, the words sounding so naive, so hopeful, Adil felt like weeping.

He nodded, a lump rising in his young throat.

"How do we know for sure?" Rick whispered.  Evy and Alex alive!  He felt a sudden relief wash through him, so sharp it was almost painful.  And Jonathan and Ardeth alive too.  All five of them had survived Imhotep's rule.  Was it possible?

Somehow, from somewhere, it seemed that he heard Ardeth's voice. _There is a fine line between coincidence and fate..._

Adil was answering his question.  "Various translators and advisors who have been inside Imhotep's palace, and have seen those imprisoned there, have been through Cairo on business.  While many have guarded their secrets well, a few have been known to let their tongues slip.  One of those men frequented a Cairo bar called–" Adil paused, trying to remember.  "A kasbah of some sort.  The Kaiser's Kasbah?  No....wait, I've got it.  The Czar's Kasbah.  No, that's wrong too.  Uhm, I know it.  The Shah's Kasbah!  That doesn't sound right.  Wait, maybe it's–"

A smile flitted across Rick's face.  "The Sultan's Kasbah?"

Adil nodded in relief, smiling.  "Yes, yes, that's it.  Do you know it?"

Rick smiled in remembrance.  "That's where I first met Jonathan.  Way before I even met my wife.  Before I had ever heard the name of Hamanuptra or Imhotep."

Adil looked down, allowing this man some privacy in his memories.

"Let me guess," Rick asked, "did a certain man named Nazir give Jonathan some information?"

Adil nodded.  "Then you know him."

Rick hesitated.  "I did know him.  But the rule of Imhotep has changed everyone and everything.  I'm not sure what I know anymore."

"Much has changed," Adil agreed softly.

"No," Rick corrected sadly.  "Everything has changed."

Adil's heart twisted.

These last two years, he had learned an awful lot about life.

Ardeth had taught him to fight like a warrior, to face enemies with bravery and confidence, to plan and organize with skill and determination.  But Rick O'Connell was teaching him what it was to love, to fight for that love, to survive and stay alive for that love.

Ardeth was fighting for his people, for honor, for revenge, for the future of the freedom of the world.  But Rick O'Connell was fighting for his wife and son, for a woman he had loved in many lives, for the future right to hold her and raise his son and live with them in peace.

Such was devotion.

Two brothers.  One fought for his people, one for his family.  Both fought for freedom.  Together they formed the coin of life, the double-edged sword, the key and the lock that would open the way for triumph.

Rick swallowed at looked at the young Med Jai.  "What is the plan?  What am I to do to fight Imhotep?"

Adil paused, unsure of how to answer.

"Why have you come for me?" Rick pressed, looking into the younger man's eyes.

A smile flickered across Adil's weary face.  "I am here to make you ready for the coming battle.  And to give you hope.  Will you be ready to fight, when the time comes?"

Rick looked up into Adil's eyes, and it was almost like he was seeing what Ardeth had looked like, many years ago.

"I have been ready to fight since Imhotep drew his first breath."  Rick's eyes hardened as he looked deep into the fire, the face of the Priest rising before him.  "I'm looking forward to getting my hands on him again."

Rick smiled grimly.  "We have some unfinished business."

And in this sad crusader, Adil also saw the cold steel of a warrior.

***

**Notes:** Thanks so much to all my reviewers for the continued support.  You keep me encouraged and working hard.

**Ruse**: LOL, we'd all like to be experts on what's beneath that loincloth!  We'll have to settle for using our imaginations ;-) Thanks for the nice comments. **Eviefan**: You've figured it out, hehe.  At least part of "the plan" which isn't as complex as I've made it sound *grin*.  I'm glad you liked the part with the wallet, as well as Jonathan's sunburn.  A few of my fave moments, too.  Thanks for continuing to read this, you know I love hearing from you ;-)  **Elfpixie**: Thanks!  Your comments make me happy.  Glad you stopped by.  **Fan of the Mummy**: Glad to hear from you!  Thanks so much for your encouragement.**  Anya**: I hope I'm not being too irritating! I will try to update more often, for you :-)  And thanks for calling me a "talent," though I am a 'she' ;-) **MBooker:** I'm glad you didn't miss it, sometimes chapters don't load properly, etc.  Take your time, I'm happy to hear from you anytime ;-) And when will we get more P2P?  I hope you update soon, darlin'.  **Aulizia**: Oh no!  I hope I'm not going to disappoint you!  I want to live up to your expectations, I hope you don't find the ending too ordinary after all this buildup.  But thanks so much for the reassurance ;-)  You can borrow the "seal of Anubis" idea anytime!  I'm flattered that you liked it.  I think it's a nifty idea, the ways in which the Gods choose, or don't choose, to interfere with human affairs. And when will I see more Demitica?  You've kept me in suspense for quite a while, my friend ;-)

I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! -M

***


	25. Choices

**Chapter Twenty-Five: Choices**

***

Evy and Alex were cleaning the floors of the palace.  They meandered slowly down the various hallways, alternately sweeping the floors or dusting the marble busts of the Egyptian Gods.  The golden frescoes gleamed down on them, the Egyptian figures and scenes painted with an expert hand.  Torches, fastened to the walls, lit the way brightly, illuminating the craftsmanship and beauty of the designs.  Many of the paintings were of folktales and stories of the Gods–Osiris on his golden barge, Hathor before her gleaming mirror, Anubis, holding his dark scales of judgment.

Alex halfheartedly pushed the broom against the red carpeted floor.  Neither Imhotep nor Anck-su-namun really checked on their work any more.  Evy insisted that they keep up the pretense of doing work so that they wouldn't attract undue attention to themselves.  But they weren't really concerned with cleaning anymore.

Every now and then Evy would stop and tell Alex one or another of the ancient myths, pointing to the images on the wall that corresponded to her tale.  After the tale of Osiris' death at the hands of his brother Set, Alex finally protested.

"Mum, I've heard these a thousand times."

Evy smiled indulgently.  "I know, sweets.  I like to think there's still stuff that I can teach you."  She ruffled his hair and he let her, not minding as he had used to.  Affection had seemed gooey to him.  Now it seemed necessary, important.  You never knew when the person you loved would be gone.

"There's other stuff you can teach me," Alex replied unthinkingly.  He bit his lip and fussed at his messy blond hair–hair just like his father's.

At his words, Evy unexpectedly found tears forming in her eyes.  She pushed them away impatiently.  She had no time for crying.  And she hated it when Alex saw her cry.  She had to be strong for him, now and always.

There were so many things she wanted to teach Alex–but they were all lessons that had to be learned out in the world.  Alex knew as much of Egyptian history as a ten year old could take in, and Evy had taught him much about history in other regions, too.  But without access to novels and poetry, to science and math texts–Alex's education was incomplete.

Evy was almost at the end of her rope.  She had given Alex almost everything she knew, but it wouldn't be enough for them to survive on for much longer.

She sighed, tugging impatiently at her frazzled hair which hung loose down her back.  Her only concern was for Alex.  She was alert, ready every single day, for the moment when Imhotep would be attacked.  She would be ready to fight, if she had to.

"Alright, munchkin," Evy said, tucking her wavy brown hair behind her ears.  "You run along back to our rooms.  I'll sweep up the library and then we'll have dinner."  

Alex brightened.  "And chess, too?" he asked hopefully.  They had created their own chess set from various items found around the empty palace.  Evy was sure no one would notice that they were gone.

Evy smiled.  "And chess."

"K, mum," Alex said smiling.  "See you soon."  He kissed her quickly on the cheek and turned and skipped down the brightly illuminated hallway towards the dining room.  Beyond the dining room was the massive throne room, and beyond that were the sleeping quarters.

Evy sighed.  After all that they had been through, her son was still a wonderful boy.  Imhotep hadn't ruined everything in her life.

Unbidden, an image of Rick rose in her mind.  Just seeing his face–lanky blond hair, bright blue eyes, boyish grin–made her ache inside.  She missed him wholly, with all of her being–like the tiny crab misses its opalescent shell–its protection, its home, its other half.

She was strong and she was surviving.  But she could feel the gaping hole in her chest, the place Rick's presence in her life had filled.  She knew he still loved her and would rescue her the moment he had a chance.  But knowing that the love was still there wasn't enough.  She needed him beside her, physically, needed his strong arms wrapped around her, needed to be able to lean back onto his chest.  She needed his touch, his kisses, his body near hers to remind her that they would love each other forever.

Evy swallowed, pressing her lips together roughly as she tried to regain control of her emotions.  Thinking of Rick always broke the confidant mask she wore around everyone, even Alex.  She could feel the physical ache in her chest, the ache of loneliness.

Gripping the broom and taking a deep breath, Evy was able to force Rick's image from her mind.  It would do no good dwelling on what she didn't have.

Holding the broom, Evy pushed her shoulder into the heavy oak door of the library.  She turned her thoughts to the mundane actions of cleaning and dusting.  If she could think only about trivial things, she wouldn't break her heart thinking about her husband, toiling in the slaves' quarters, or Jonathan, who was probably hiding in England, or Ardeth, who was probably dead, along with the rest of the brave warrior race of Med Jai.  If she thought too hard about it she would go mad.

The door creaked open and Evy took a step in.  She turned her mind to dusting.  Imhotep would notice if his library was dusty.  She hadn't been in there in a week.

She was always glad when he was out of the palace.  It wasn't that he went out of his way to bother her, usually.  It was his presence.  It was eerie, unsettling.  He exuded evil and Evy could feel it.

She heard a sniffle.  _What?_ she thought, her face furrowing in confusion.

She turned.  Her mouth fell open.

There, sitting in his red velvet chair with his face in his hands, was Imhotep.

"Oh, excuse me–" she started, shocked.  _What was he doing here?_

"You," he growled angrily, looking up at her.  "What are you doing here?"

Her question exactly.  "I, I thought you were still away, I did not know–" Evy babbled, clutching at the mop handle so tightly her knuckles turned white.  It wasn't Imhotep's accusatory tone that unnerved her so–she had heard it many times before.  It wasn't the anger in his voice, either, or the fact that they were alone together, or even her surprise at seeing him when he was supposed to be in the Americas.

What unnerved her so were the tears on his cheeks.

He lowered his head, hiding his damp face.  "You have come to gloat over my pain, have you not?  Well go ahead!" he said bitterly.  "Enjoy!"

Evy couldn't move.  She had never seen Imhotep like this.  A part of her wanted to flee, to run as far away as possible.

But another part of her saw clearly a tormented man, a man who had at one time been her friend.  There were times all that she saw of Imhotep was the evil being he had become.  But sometimes she saw the man she had known three millennia ago.  And that caused her even more pain, hating a man she had once called a friend, a teacher, a mentor.

"I do not enjoy your pain," Evy admitted simply, her white hands still wrapped around the broom handle.

Imhotep looked up, surprised by the lack of anger in her voice.

"Why not?  You must hate me," Imhotep said bitterly.  He looked down again, holding his face in his broad hands.

Evy swallowed, taking a step into the room.  Imhotep had never behaved like this in front of her before.  And she realized that he, too, had a soul and a conscience, no matter how heavily they were masked.  "Part of me hates you for the things you have done..." she hesitated.  "But I understand you, too."

"I don't deserve your understanding," he said roughly.

"No, but the man you were does."  Evy leaned against a bookcase, her hip and shoulder taking her weight, as she looked at Imhotep.  _As she looked at him, it was almost as though she were looking at her teacher, many years ago..._

Imhotep's eyes gleamed with regret and pain.  "We _were_ friends, three millennia ago.  You remember."

"I remember my respect and admiration for you," Evy responded honestly.

"Not just that.  We were friends.  We used to talk."  Imhotep's eyes clouded as he drifted back in time, remembering.

Evy turned slightly away.  "Yes, we used to," she murmured, mostly to herself, as her mind hazed, searching, dredging up ancient memories.  "But you turned away from me."

Imhotep's brows furrowed as he tried to remember.  "I turned away from you?"

Evy looked away, her voice husky with an old pain.  "You turned away from me.  You stopped confiding in me because you found someone else.  You _chose_ someone else."

Imhotep's eyes glistened with remorse.  "Did I hurt you?" he asked softly.

"You betrayed me and my father!" Evy replied hoarsely, equal parts anger and pain causing the tears that slowly began building in her eyes.

"We cannot choose who we love, princess."

Evy could not look at him, trying desperately to dispel the lump in her throat.  "I know that.  But we do choose who we betray."

Imhotep sighed.  "We have fought many battles against each other, Nefertiri.  But before our lives took different paths, before I knew Anck-su-namun, we were not enemies.  I never wanted to betray you."  He paused, remembering.  "I killed for the love of a woman, not for the hate of a Pharaoh."  He paused again.  "Do you remember the last time we saw each other in that life?"

Evy's lips parted slightly as she tried to recollect that moment, shifting through the multitude of memories–memories of two very different lifetimes.  "I'm not sure," she confessed, searching her mind.

"Let me show you," Imhotep said, still seated, stretching out his hand.  Evy hesitated, then took the four steps forward, until she was standing in front of him.

"Remember, Princess, remember how you were my confessor..."  Imhotep gently touched her outstretched fingertips and Evy felt a jolt of electricity bolt through her.

***

_"Imhotep," Nefertiri said, surprised, as she walked into her father's throne room, seeing him standing there.  "I am glad to see you, you were not at the feast last night."_

_The priest looked up from his thoughts.  He had been trying to take his mind off of Anck-su-namun and what he must do, but he was failing miserably._

_"Nefertiri," he said, lowering his head.  The great hall of the throne room was completely empty except for the two of them._

_"Come, sit with me," she offered, seating herself on a bench on the side of the great room._

_Imhotep__ sat down next to her, unsure of what to say._

_"You've been so distant lately," she began._

_"Have I?" he asked, looking at her, but they both knew his ignorance was feigned._

_"Imhotep," the princess said, "our friendship has not been what it was."_

_He looked down.  "It is as you say."_

_"Why?" she asked plaintively._

_Because I am planning on murdering your father! Because I am planning on betraying every oath I ever took to free the woman I love! Imhotep wanted to scream the truth, but he knew he could not._

_Nefertiri__ bit her lip, unnerved by Imhotep's silence.  He seemed edgier, raw, tense...the opposite of what he had always been: calm, poised, self-controlled.  She decided to try a guess._

_"Does it have anything to do with Anck-su-namun?"_

_Imhotep's__ head shot up.  "What makes you say that?" he asked sharply._

_Nefertiri__ winced at his tone.  "It's nothing...it's just that I've seen you look at her..."  She fell silent.  "I've seen you look at her in the same way that Menmet looks at me."_

_Imhotep's__ eyes softened.  "Do you...love Menmet?"_

_The princess nodded, her eyes dampening.  "I haven't told a soul.  It is such a relief to finally tell someone."_

_Imhotep__ leaned forward, taking Nefertiri's hands in his own.  "I will keep your secret well, my princess."_

_She smiled and nodded, wiping away a tear.  "And what of Anck-su-namun?"_

_Imhotep__ lowered his eyes, although he kept his hands wrapped around Nefertiri's small ones.  "You must promise me your secrecy."_

_"Of course."___

_"I love Anck-su-namun.  And she loves me."_

_Nefertiri's__ eyes filled with concern.  "But my father–"_

_"I know, I know, I have thought about everything," Imhotep broke in, his inner turmoil showing plainly on his face.  "There is no way for us to be together honorably in this lifetime."_

_The princess' eyes filled with tears.  "Oh Imhotep, I face the same problem!  I can never marry a Med Jai!"_

_Imhotep__ met her tear-filled eyes.  "Have you ever considered...running away together?"_

_Nefertiri's__ eyes widened in shock.__  "Imhotep, can you truly ask me that?  I suppose I have fantasized about it...but I, and he, would never abandon our responsibilities.  We have both sworn oaths to fulfill our duties here."_

_"What duties are more important than love?" Imhotep asked bitterly, her purity and goodness staining his rapidly darkening soul._

_"I must marry and produce an heir," she said.  "I know it does not sound noble–but I was born for it.  You know that.  And Menmet has sworn to his people and to the Pharaoh.  He is doubly bound."_

_"As am I," Imhotep said softly._

_"What do you mean?"_

_"I have sworn to your father and to my Gods.  Neither will be forgiving."_

_Nefertiri__ swallowed, a tear slipping and sliding down her cheek.  "Imhotep, we will both be forced to give up the ones that we love for duty.  I don't know if I can bear it."  Her head drooped as she finally gave in and wept._

_Imhotep__ gathered her in his arms.  "My princess, shhh," he soothed, holding her as he would hold his baby sister._

_She was so pure, so good.  And he was decaying from the inside, his soul rotting more with every thought of betrayal and murder._

_As he held her, Imhotep understood that Nefertiri was stronger than he.  She would be able to fulfill her oaths–remain true to her Gods–and live her life without love.  But he was weak.  He would never be able to live without Anck-su-namun._

_"Nefertiri, listen to me," he said urgently, rocking her gently.__  "Whatever happens in this lifetime, or any lifetime, I want you to remember this."_

_She raised her tear-stained face up to his, so simple and trusting Imhotep felt he could weep._

_And suddenly, it seemed as though the very walls of the throne room faded away, and the priest and the princess were surrounded by a wall of shimmering light.  He held her, and it seemed that their physical bodies melted away, until they were one with the air, with the light, and their faces became nothing but shadows..._

_From across a great distance, Imhotep heard himself speaking, and he knew it came from a deep corner of his soul, a part of him he would someday soon thrust from himself in order to live with his choices.  "Remember that I always loved you as a sister, and that I will always regret any pain I have ever caused you.  Whatever I do, in the future, please remember that I did it for love, not for hate."_

_Imhotep__ drew in a ragged breath, seeing nothing, the very air shivering around them, feeling her in his arms, as though they were floating, above and over space.  "When you are an old woman, I want you to remember me as I am now–a priest, a healer, a man of God.  And know that, for the rest of my rebirths into this world, I will carry with me regret, a deep remorse that no time can erase."_

_And with his final words, it was as though the fabric of time rippled and trembled, and once again he was himself, and Nefertiri was herself.  The room no longer shimmered around them, they were no longer ringed in light.  Imhotep wondered what it meant, or if it had been a trick of his mind._

_Nefertiri__ looked up at him.  "Imhotep, I don't understand–"_

_"You will," he said softly, stroking her hair._

_He was so weak.  His terrible weakness was the reason he would murder his Pharaoh, spit in the faces of the Gods, and betray the only woman he had ever loved as a friend and as a sister.  Imhotep cursed himself, but he knew it would do no good.  He could not live without Anck-su-namun._

_"Remember what I have said, for it will be my legacy."  He removed his arms from the princess, and she cried out softly._

_"Do not leave me, Imhotep."_

_"I must.  Goodbye, my princess.  May you find happiness in your honor, your goodness, and the deep love in your heart."_

_And Nefertiri, princess of __Egypt__, watched Imhotep walk out of the Pharaoh's throne room for the final time._

***

Evy sat down abruptly on another red velvet chair, the emotions contained in the memory flooding her being.  A tear slid down her face and she wiped it away impatiently.  "You were so good, so pure, Imhotep.  Why did you abandon everything that was good in your life?"

A sad smile flickered across Imhotep's face.  "You think I have not questioned the path my life has taken?  But I cannot take anything back.  The past is done.  I can only live with the consequences of my actions."

"But if you could do it over, if you could take something back–"

"I can't.  And I don't know.  There are no answers, Nefertiri."

Evy's glistening eyes met his in sudden understanding, in the understanding of two souls whose lives have been so woven together they have practically become pieces of the same cloth.  Evy and Imhotep were on opposite sides of this war.  But they were tied together, bound in lifetime after lifetime.  The gleaming side of the coin is still eternally bound to its dark twin...

"You're right, Imhotep," Evy admitted, wiping her hand across her damp face.  "There are only choices."

"And if I could not come to terms with my choices, I would go mad."  Imhotep looked down, masking part of his face in the shadows.

"What do you mean?" Evy asked, with a sudden inkling of what he meant.  A tiny seed of fear stole through her.

He met her eyes.  "I mean that I must make a choice now, Princess.  There are two beings in me–the unholy Creature and the holy man that I was.  I must choose."

When Evy would speak Imhotep made a sharp downward movement with his hand to silence her.  He rose from his chair.  "Leave me, Nefertiri.  I must think."

He paused, and Evy noticed the grim set of his jawline.  "There are some roads that a man–" he gave a short, harsh laugh.  "A creature–must travel alone."

"What road, Imhotep?" Evy asked fearfully.

He met her eyes.  "The road to becoming."

Evy swallowed as she understood his meaning.  "And what will you choose to become?"

Imhotep turned his face away.  "The evil in me is powerful...it grows every day.  If I do not accept it as part of me it will drive me mad.  I cannot live that way."

Evy exhaled slowly, all of the pieces suddenly fitting together.   "So you must fully embrace the evil part of your soul."  She gasped as a new thought struck her.  "And in so doing you will tie your soul to the underworld and belong to Anubis forever."

"I am a part of the jackal-headed God.  He will protect his own."

"But to choose to belong to him–" Evy began.

Imhotep interrupted.  His eyes, round and luminous, met hers, and for that searing moment Evy she saw no evil in him.  His voice was full of hopelessness and frustration.  "I did not choose to become what I am!  Your friends, the Med Jai, created me, forged me as though I were made of clay!  They cursed my soul and formed the evil within me!"

He took a step away from her, breathing heavily, his eyes wet and tortured.  "But they left part of my humanity intact.  If they had stripped everything away and made me completely evil, I could have lived.  But they left me with my soul.  The Hom-Dai is a double curse indeed."

He took a deep breath and exhaled, struggling with his emotions.  His voice was softer, and desperation had replaced the anger in his words.  "Nefertiri, you must believe me.  I would give everything to give up the power of the Hom-Dai.  I would give everything not to have it within me!  It, it eats away at me."  Imhotep sagged, exhausted.  "I would have given anything for a normal death.  Anything they asked."

He closed his eyes.  When he opened them again they glistened with sorrow, but ultimately with acceptance.  "I am the Creature now.  I was given power to rule this earth.  And I will fulfill my destiny."

Silence filled the library and Evy could hear the beating of her own heart.  She now felt nothing for Imhotep but pity.  The anger was gone, replaced with compassion.  He had asked neither for the power nor for the suffering of the Hom-Dai.  It had been given him, and he had been forced to live with the consequences.

"Ah, Imhotep," Evy whispered.  "You cannot help what you are."  

She no longer hated him.  She knew that, someday, he would fall.  The Gods would not allow him to rule the earth forever.  They had given him power, but they would eventually strip it away.  And all that was left in her heart was a profound sadness that Imhotep, who had been so good, had been turned into something so evil.

Evy felt tears brimming in her eyes.  She wanted so badly to help him–and yet the very reasons she empathized with him were the very reasons he must be destroyed.

Without another word Evy turned and walked away.

***

Consumed by her private thoughts, Evy walked across the throne room, her cheeks damp.  She was heading to find Alex in their rooms, but her mind whirled with disparate emotions.  She empathized with Imhotep, yet wanted him destroyed.  They had been friends and confidants, yet now they were enemies.

_There are no answers.  Only choices._

"Nefertiri!  Have you seen Imhotep?" Anck-su-namun's voice broke into Evy's thoughts.

Evy looked up abruptly, seeing the queen come walking briskly towards her across the grand throne room.  Anck-su-namun hurried to Evy's side, wringing her hands.  "I heard he had returned from the Americas, but he has not yet been to see me.  Is he back?"  The queen looked expectantly at Evy.

Evy hesitated, not wanting to cause her pain, but decided to be honest.  "Yes, I just saw him, in the library."

Anck-su-namun's eyes fell to the floor.  She swallowed and exhaled softly.  "He used to come to me immediately.  As soon as he came home he would run into my arms–" she bit her lip.  "I don't know what has happened to us."

Evy swallowed.  She did not want to be stuck between these two–the Pharaoh and his queen, the priest and the concubine.  Her place was not there.  And she could not bear to tell Anck-su-namun the one thing that would destroy her: Imhotep was not the man she loved.  He was himself trapped in a body of an evil monster.  And he was about to fully accept that evil.

Evy looked down, unwilling to respond.

But Anck-su-namun knew.  Evy started, realizing that Anck-su-namun had probably known for some time, in her heart.

"He has been changed by the evil within him."  The queen looked down, and Evy could see the glisten of tears in her eyes.  "And I don't know how to help him anymore."

There was nothing for Evy to say.  There was no way to save him or help him any longer.  He had long ago crossed that line.

Evy wondered if Anck-su-namun understood.

Imhotep had gone too far.  He could not be saved, not in this incarnation.  Not in this lifetime.  Not in this world.

If the earth was to be saved, Imhotep had to go.

***

**Notes:** Hehe, making you feel bad for Immy.  I love angst.  Anyway, just one more chapter until the battle.  Yay!  To those who asked, it looks like there will be about seven chapters left, but as I refine the ending that might change slightly.  Stay tuned though, I am on a roll ;-) Happy holidays everyone and have a great new year!

**Soph****:** Thanks for your encouragement and I'm glad you like it! **Eviefan****:** Glad you like the details, etc.  I can't give anything away, suffice it to say that I'm a romantic at heart ;-) About the Gods...wait and see ;-) (cackles evilly) Thanks for reviewing!  **MBooker****:** Damn straight!  For a man of God, Immy sure knows a lot about hand to hand combat ;-) Thanks for your reviews, your one for chapter 23 made me laugh.  You're right about Jonathan, I think I'm going to make him a little more "bumbling" in chapter 26 ;-)**Ruse****:** Glad you liked the honeymoon part, as well as his convo with Anjelica...I haven't written much about her but she's one of my favorite original characters.  Rick = teddy bear, haha, exactly, except its more like cuddly, fuzzy teddy bear with machine gun and ammo belt, lol.   Thanks for your review!**  Elfpixie:** Glad you liked that part, it seemed like how Rick would react ;-) Thanks for reviewing, for answer to your question see my note above. **Mommints****:** I know...I'm having such fun writing this I don't want to stop...and yet I'm excited to finally be (on the way to) finishing it.  Thanks for your continued support, you know I love hearing from you ;-) **Aulizia****:** So pleased that you liked the chapter!  Your comments always make me really happy, you always seem to like just the parts that were my faves, too.  You're the best, I love your reviews!  **Child-of-the-light:** Thanks!  Its always nice to see a new reader of one of my stories.  And I'm tickled pink you like my original characters ;-)

I love all you guys, thanks for reviewing!  -M

***


	26. The Coming Battle

**Chapter Twenty-Six: The Coming ****Battle**

***

Jonathan and Ardeth were hunched over in the afternoon sun, busy going through the stockpiles of weapons the Med Jai had managed to salvage from their destroyed villages.  As they sorted through the swords and knives and guns, various Med Jai came up to receive the weapon that they would use for the coming battle.

After handing a scimitar to another warrior, Ardeth leaned back and closed his eyes, allowing the meager breeze to blow through his sandy hair.  With a tired sigh, he opened his eyes and turned them to the men and women below them.  Down the mountain a little bit was a plateau where many Med Jai were practicing with their scimitars.  They had not been in a fight for some time and Ardeth had insisted that everyone stay sharp and battle-ready.

Jonathan was still looking carefully at their options which lay scattered on the dusty ground: Many scimitars and various swords.  Some knives, most of them dulled.  A few handguns.  One very old, rusty hunting rifle.

Jonathan picked up the ancient looking weapon, examining it.  "I say, do a lot of deer hunting out here?"

Ardeth rolled his eyes, a strand of dark hair blowing across his face.  "It's obviously of no use to us."

"No, really," Jonathan continued.  "I can see why your people decided to save this gun, out of all of the others that must have been lying around.  It must be very valuable, being an antique and all."

"I thought that the rifle was your favorite weapon," Ardeth commented dryly.

"Well, my good son, so it is.  I _have_ won more than my fair share of awards," Jonathan acknowledged, feigning modesty as he tossed the gun back onto the sandy ground.

"Uh huh," Ardeth replied indifferently, having already heard about Jonathan's achievements.

"And, I say, I don't remember ever seeing you use a rifle," Jonathan continued out loud.  "The only gun you ever used was a Thompson.  Who can't use a Thompson?  It's a submachine gun!  You can't miss your target with that thing."

"And I didn't," Ardeth replied pointedly, wiping some grime from his forehead as he crouched in the dust.

"Well, neither did I," Jonathan responded with a grin, raising his eyebrow.  "Don't forget how I saved your life in the Ahm Shere jungle."

Ardeth turned away, rubbing his eyes.  "I've been trying to forget," he mumbled to himself.

"I heard that," Jonathan announced as he rooted through the guns.  "Oh!  And another thing!" His eyes brightened.  "A Thompson is the weapon of a gangster, old boy.  A rifle is the weapon of a gentleman."

Ardeth rolled his eyes–for about the fifteenth time that day.

But Ardeth knew that Jonathan's chattering was his way of hiding his nervousness, having learnt Jonathan Carnahan's habits under pressure quite well over the past twelve years.  And, Ardeth admitted to himself, Jonathan's stream of babble was helping him keep his own nervousness in check.  It helped him keep his mind mostly off of the coming battle.

They all knew that Imhotep would return to his palace sometime in the next few days, and everyone was preparing for the attack.  Below them, the male and female Med Jai continued to practice fighting with scimitars.  Ardeth handed out two more to a pair of gruff looking middle aged warriors.

He sighed, rolling his neck.  He had to be calm and focused in order to lead his people into battle effectively.  But he was incredibly tense.  He had no idea how Adil was faring or if he had been able to contact Rick.  Ardeth had no idea if the slaves would be prepared and ready for the Med Jai attack.

Jonathan stood up, abandoning his work for the moment, and clapped Ardeth on the back.  The seasoned warrior was surprised at how much Jonathan Carnahan was able to comfort him.  For all their differences, they understood each other.

"I know you're nervous, old boy," Jonathan said.  "But we've got to do it.  This is our chance and we've got to take it."  The Englishman sighed, watching the fierce mock fighting of the Med Jai below them.  "And these people...they would follow you anywhere."

Ardeth swallowed proudly, giving Jonathan a half smile.

"Even I can see it," Jonathan added with a grin.

Ardeth laughed.  "Thank you, my friend."

Jonathan placed his hands on the back of his neck, lightly massaging his own muscles and trying to relax.  Ardeth watched silently, seeing the tension in his back and neck.  Jonathan sighed, looking out into the desert.

"Ardeth...we've known each other for a long time..." the Englishman looked down. "I need to know something.  Er, there's something I want to ask you, because I trust you, and because you're a warrior.  And because you're my friend."

Ardeth waited, curious as to what Jonathan would say.

"Do you think I'm a coward?"

Ardeth blinked.  _Well, yes.  No, not really.  _Ardeth's eyebrows furrowed in thought as his mind skimmed over his memories of the past twelve years.

Jonathan Carnahan had always made a joke of his own cowardice, had always mocked his own fear and laughed at his own tendency to panic under pressure.

"I think–" Ardeth stopped himself.  No, he was thinking of the exterior Jonathan, the Jonathan that most people knew.  Jonathan appeared on the outside as many things: a coward, a drunk, a lousy brother, a gambler, even a criminal.  But Ardeth knew that there was a depth to him that most people never saw. 

Yes, Jonathan always made jokes about his fear.  But when his family needed him he had always been there.  Ardeth remembered how Jonathan had driven the double-decker bus, how he had gunned down Imhotep's minions in the jungle of Ahm Shere, how he had distracted Anck-su-namun so that Alex could resurrect his beloved sister.  Jonathan might seem like a shallow man–but he was brave when he needed to be.

"You are not a coward, Jonathan.  I've seen you in enough serious situations.  I know you."

Jonathan looked down at his feet.

Ardeth continued, the honesty of his words apparent in his voice.  "People who don't know you probably think that you are a coward.  But I've seen you save people's lives.  I've seen you risk your life to save others.  I've seen you stand up and deliver under pressure.  And you saved my life.  I will never forget that."

Jonathan looked up, his eyes glimmering.  When he spoke, his voice was scratchy.  "Thanks, old chum."

Ardeth smiled gently.  "Anytime."

The tender moment ended abruptly as Pierre's voice broke into their conversation.

"Please tell me you have something else I can use besides a sword," Pierre lamented as he walked up towards Jonathan and Ardeth.  He had been discussing fighting techniques with Rashid and was despairing over his lack of swordsmanship skill.

"I say, this is your lucky day," Jonathan exclaimed, immediately coming out of his thoughts.  He had that uncanny ability, Ardeth reflected, to change moods immediately–to go from drunk to sober, amused to serious, fearful to brave.

"Oh yeah?" Pierre asked, tossing a gunny sack onto the ground.

"We have just the thing for you!"  Jonathan picked up the rusty rifle, holding it out to Pierre.  "If it doesn't fire, you can hit the mummies over the head with it."

Pierre smiled, looking at the ancient weapon.  "Thanks Carnahan.  Is that a tested technique or are you just trying to get me killed?"

"Just giving out the free advice, old boy," Jonathan explained, going back to rummaging through the various pistols and handguns.

"I haven't fought with a sword in years," Pierre continued aloud, brushing dirty blond hair out of his eyes.

Jonathan picked out a gun for himself and handed another to Pierre.  "Will this suffice?"

Pierre looked it over and smiled.  "Sure thing.  Got any grease?"

Jonathan and Pierre sat down and began greasing the various handguns, oiling them to battle-ready perfection.  Ardeth began dispensing more of the swords to Med Jai who approached, ready to get their own weapon for the coming battle.  He looked down at the dwindling stockpile, chewing his lip.  "I hope we have enough scimitars," he murmured to himself.

Suddenly Dalil's voice could be heard, calling up to Ardeth from down the mountain path.  "My leader!"

Ardeth turned and watched as the young man came jogging up them, sweating in the afternoon heat.   "Sir, Imhotep has returned."

Ardeth's eyes widened in surprise.  "Already?"

"Yes sir.  His plane landed early this morning."

Ardeth smiled grimly.  The time had come.

Turning to where various Med Jai were practicing, sharpening their swords, and running about preparing the camp for battle, Ardeth began to speak.  "My brothers!  My sisters!  My family!  There is news from the scouts."

Quickly the Med Jai stopped and watched Ardeth, ready to listen and obey his will.

"Imhotep has returned to his palace today.  You all know what you must do.  Tomorrow we launch our attack."

A great cheer rose up from the Med Jai as they celebrated.  Ardeth smiled down on them, pain and pride mixing equally in his conflicted emotions.  There was no turning back after tomorrow.  After today, Ardeth did not know if he could ever be truly happy again, since many of his people must die.  Even if they defeated Imhotep, they were a decimated people.

Jonathan, having oiled his gun to a gleaming silver, stuck it in the waistband of his pants.  "I'm going to go get a drink," he announced, standing and squinting in the sun.  "So really, Ardeth, where's your stockpile of whiskey hidden?  I know you must have one."

"You drank it all already," Ardeth replied.

"No wonder I don't remember last night," Jonathan called out over his shoulder as he made his way to the water well, as Ardeth and Pierre shared a chuckle.

Ardeth sat down on the rock next to Pierre and began sharpening his scimitar.  He looked over and watched as Pierre loaded his handgun, quickly and efficiently.  He looked like a man who'd had a fair amount of experience with guns.  Ardeth smiled to himself, remembering a similar moment with Jonathan, two years ago, as he had prepared to go into battle in the Ahm Shere jungle.

"So, are you any good with that?" Ardeth asked the Frenchman, hiding his smile.

Pierre looked up, snapping the barrel into the gun.  "I'm still alive, aren't I?" he responded blithely.  "Are you any good with that?" he asked, nodding his head at Ardeth's gleaming scimitar, which lay across the warrior's lap.

"Let's just say I'm better than most," Ardeth replied calmly.  "I've killed my fair share of Anubis warriors."

Pierre examined the gun one last time before sliding it into his holster. "Anubis warriors?" he asked, raising his eyebrow.

"Of course," Ardeth replied seriously, but there was a twinkle of mirth in his eye.  "You can't fight Imhotep unless you know how to kill an Anubis warrior."

"And what exactly is an Anubis warrior?" Pierre asked, pulling a cigarette from his shirt pocket.

"A jackal headed beast made of sand that fights and obeys only the God of the underworld," Ardeth replied calmly, sheathing his sword.

"Oh, ok," Pierre responded with a grin.  "In that case, can I request a different assignment?"

Ardeth laughed.  "Sure thing.  But know that the only way to kill it is by cutting off its head."

"Thanks," Pierre replied, taking a long drag of his cigarette.  "But what makes you think Anubis' army will fight for Imhotep?"

Ardeth sighed, turning serious.  "I don't know if they will.  But Imhotep is a High Priest of Osiris.  He has a lot of tricks up his sleeve.  I don't doubt that he could raise the army of a God.  We have to be prepared for anything."

"I've seen a lot in my lifetime," Pierre mused, watching the Med Jai continue to practice below them.  "But I have a feeling that tomorrow I'm going to see a lot of things I'll spend the rest of my life trying to forget."

"It doesn't work," Ardeth murmured, rubbing his tired eyes.  "There are some things you never forget."

Pierre looked away, turning his gaze into the limitless desert, to give Ardeth more privacy with his thoughts.  "Our plan is good, Bay.  But it is also very risky."

Ardeth blinked and nodded.  "My grandfather once said to me: _when you strike at a king, you must slay him._"  He looked into Pierre's eyes and saw perfect comprehension mirrored there.

The Frenchman nodded.  "I know what I've gotten myself into.  If we lose..."

Ardeth finished his sentence grimly.  "We die."

Pierre looked out into the desert, vast and serene and beautiful.  But for all its lonely beauty, it was barren and empty. "If I wasn't here, fighting with you, but off hiding somewhere..." his voice trailed off.  "I don't think I would want to live at all in this world if I didn't have any hope."

Ardeth felt himself nodding.  And suddenly he found himself wanting very much to confess his true thoughts to Pierre.

Somehow, it would be easier for Ardeth to reveal his genuine feelings to this foreign warrior than to anyone else.  His Med Jai brothers, even Jonathan, had known him for most of his life.  It would be a relief to speak to someone who did not truly know him, someone who would not judge him.

Ardeth swallowed, allowing himself to be completely honest and unguarded.  "I would rather die in this final battle, with honor, than live under the rule of the Priest." 

Pierre smiled, a mere ghost of a smile.  "I have fought with different men, in different countries, for different causes.  Some I believed in...others I didn't.  Sometimes I didn't even know what I was fighting for, except that if I turned to run away there would be a man ready to shoot me."

Pierre met Ardeth's eyes.  "I know that you are a man who has always fought for a reason.  But finally...I feel as though I have found my cause.  If I ever fought and trained for anything it was for this."

Ardeth smiled gently.  "So you have found your place.  Not all men are so blessed."

Pierre looked down.  "My place?  You believe that everyone belongs somewhere?  That everyone was born to fulfill some sort of purpose?"

"Some people are, yes."

Pierre sighed.  "I wish that I could believe that."

Ardeth paused, considering.  "I think that certain people are destined to face the same obstacles in lifetime after lifetime.  They are forced to relive their destinies, over and over.  They are marked and can never escape their pasts."

Pierre rubbed at the stubble on his cheek.  "That sounds kind of depressing."

"Perhaps," Ardeth replied thoughtfully.  "But it can be a blessing, too.  Some people are fated to find each other because their souls have been matched by the Gods."  Ardeth turned his face away slightly.  "But some people's lives become so interwoven...that they find each other, for good or ill, in life after life."

Pierre looked up carefully.  "Are you speaking of yourself?"

Ardeth remained silent for some time.  "My soul is a thread that has been deeply woven into an intricate tapestry.  I cannot be reborn unless I am reborn with the rest of the tapestry, with the other people and places I am linked to.  This will be true for me, in lifetime after lifetime."

Pierre stubbed out his cigarette.  "You truly believe in reincarnation?"

A wry smile crossed Ardeth's lips.  "After all you have seen, you do not believe in it?"

Pierre paused, considering.  "Before 1934, there were a lot of things I would've sworn couldn't happen....but then they did.  I don't know if I believe in reincarnation."  The warrior sighed.  "What I guess I'm trying to say is that, right now, I'm not ruling anything out.  The world has a lot of hidden mysteries and she keeps her secrets well."

Ardeth looked away.  "Perhaps it is time for me to explain to you the true meaning of the Med Jai."

Pierre's eyes widened slightly.  "Do you guys ever run out of secrets?"

Ardeth laughed.  "We have many, but they are kept that way for the safety of all."

Pierre reached for another cigarette.  "So, tell me," he urged, fumbling for his lighter.

Ardeth paused.  Where to begin?  When did this long, complicated history start?  "I suppose that this all began over three thousand years ago.  The Med Jai were a race of body-guards, charged with protecting the Pharaoh and the royal family at all costs.

"One night, Imhotep, High Priest of Osiris, and his lover, Anck-su-namun, murdered Seti I in his bedchamber.  My ancestors had failed.  The Pharaoh was dead.  The Med Jai found and cursed the High Priest Imhotep with the Hom-Dai, the most horrible of ancient curses.  For murdering his Pharaoh, we corrupted his soul, ensuring that he would never find peace with his Gods.

After our duty was performed, we were banished, sent to guard Imhotep's immortal soul from ever being reborn into the world.  For three thousand years, we completed our duty well."

Pierre nodded.  "Most of that I'd heard, in one form or another.  But what happened in 1923?"

Ardeth sighed.  "We did not know it at the time, but the ancient tapestry, the cycle of love and death that had taken place in ancient times, was ready to replay itself."

Pierre's eyes narrowed.  "I don't understand."

"Because I did not mention that Pharaoh Seti had a daughter, Nefertiri, and she was in love with a Med Jai named Menmet.  He was...my best friend."

"Menmet was your best friend?  Three millennia ago?"

Ardeth simply nodded.

"So who were you?" Pierre asked skeptically.

"I was the leader of the Med Jai."

"How do you know that?"

Ardeth smiled grimly.  "I have my memories."

Pierre's mouth fell open.  "Oh."

"With Imhotep's third rebirth into the world, I was somehow gifted my memories.  I do not know how or why, but I remember most of my former lifetime."

Pierre took a long drag, trying to accustom himself to this new information.  "So what happened with Nefertiri?"

An image immediately popped up in Ardeth's head, an image of a young woman with dark wavy hair, a woman who had saved his life, who had fought by his side.  "She was rebirthed into the world as Evelyn Carnahan.

"The cycle had been set in motion...but it wasn't until she met Rick O'Connell that things got out of control.  They found each other again, and fell in love.  Unfortunately, and unknowingly, they found their way to Hamanuptra, where they woke Imhotep from his grave."

Pierre sighed.  "I've heard the rest, I think."

Ardeth nodded.  "The rest is public information, most people know what happened in 1923 and 1933.  The only change was, the second time, Anck-su-namun, Imhotep's lost love and Seti I's mistress, was reborn and raised her dead lover herself."

"But both times you defeated him."

Ardeth nodded slowly.  "The first time Imhotep arose he was...angry.  Disoriented.  Confused.  Vengeful.  He wanted regeneration and Anck-su-namun by his side.  Other than that, he had no grand ambitions.

"The second time he woke...Anck-su-namun and her friends had grand ambitions for him.  Instead of using his power for personal reasons, he wanted to use his power to conquer and destroy the world.  Imhotep decided to accomplish that goal by defeating the Scorpion King and commanding his army."  Ardeth sighed, rubbing his chin with his calloused hands.  "Imhotep wanted power.  He wanted revenge.  He wanted the world to bow at his feet for all of the suffering he had endured."

Pierre gave Ardeth a wry smile.  "I guess I can understand that."

Ardeth did not smile back.  "But this time...we have never fought him when he was at the height of his powers, as he is now.  I think we have a true chance of victory, and I have hope.  But I don't know.  I just don't know."  Ardeth sighed and looked down.  "I am prepared to die in this battle."

Pierre swallowed and looked out into the desert.  "That there are things worse than death."

"True, my friend.  There are many things worse than death.  I pity those who live through this battle and must face the other side."

Pierre stubbed out his cigarette.  There was nothing more to say.  The two warriors understood each other, and they sat together in silence.

Ardeth looked out into the desert, the place he had called his home for his entire life.  He loved the desert, and yet there was something so cold, so empty about it sometimes.  He sometimes thought that the desert itself was reflecting Imhotep's barren and soulless reign.

Ardeth sighed.  What tomorrow would bring, no one knew.

***

Ardeth stood, his black desert robes billowing in the wind.  He was standing in the middle of a desert, a desert that stretched all around him.  He turned, rotating in a circle, his eyes searching every direction.  But there was nothing but desert and sky.

There were no tents, no encampment, no signs of life.  Not one cactus littered the desert, no white clouds dotted the horizon.  It was a two-tone world.  The azure of the sky was bright against the sun color of the endless sand.

His dark robes fell around him, the wind blowing them back and forth over his skin, so that the fabric caressed his flesh.  He looked down–the black color of the robes contrasted harshly with the beauty of the landscape.

His eyes returned to his surroundings, beautiful and yet somehow empty.  It was perfect–too perfect.  It was the wasteland before God added life, the barren wilderness before the first plant sprouted in the dust.

But suddenly, as Ardeth stood there, he heard a sound, a great rushing as though of a waterfall, and he turned and shifted and a great wind blew at him.  It blew his robes, his hair, they whipped around him, and suddenly the wind rushed through him as through his physical body had melted away.  The wind buoyed him up, it entered him, and Ardeth felt that he himself were made of air.

The wind continued to blow through him, coursing through his veins like crystalline blood, pure and cold and clean, and for a moment Ardeth thought that he must be floating.

And then, suddenly, the wind stopped.

Ardeth felt his body slump, slacken against the rough sand.  He closed his eyes–

–and it was as though lightening hit him.  He jerked, struggled, felt a force much more powerful than himself take hold of him, clasp him, smother him...no, it was cradling him...

And a glimpse of the future seared itself into Ardeth's mind.

He saw with the clarity of the divine, with knowledge that no mortal man should know.  He saw the long road before him, saw the huge timeline of history spread before him, and saw that Imhotep would never rise again.

He could not see how the story would end, nor could he see if his own life would be required in the fight to return Imhotep to his grave.  He felt the presence of the greater being, the indulgent smile, the caressing voice..._No man can know his own fate..._ who was speaking?  Ardeth struggled to hear, but the sounds were lost in the wind.

_You can see no more, child...open your eyes..._

And Ardeth opened his eyes.  He was laying, face down, in the sand.  He struggled, pushed, managed to lift himself to his knees...he was still in the endless, barren desert, a place that existed only in the minds of men and in the arms of the Gods...

Ardeth struggled to stand, but he could not move, his limbs were frozen.  And then it was as if the wind returned, harsh and threatening, and the very sand rose, swirling in the wind, lifelike...and came for him...

Ardeth woke with a start, sweat pouring down his back.  He sat up in the darkness of his tent, breathing heavily.  Realizing where he was, he shook his head slightly, trying to clear the images from his mind.  He was desperately trying to get some sleep before the battle tomorrow, but there were dreams, vivid and colored, crowding his exhausted mind.

Ardeth sighed, blinking in the dark.  He did not doubt the message his dream had given him.  Imhotep would never rise again. 

But the knowledge of that fact frightened him.  What would Imhotep accomplish in this rebirth that he had been unable to complete in his others?

A sinister chill went up Ardeth's spine.

***

**Notes:** I hope this chapter wasn't too slow...flame me if the story's getting annoying.  Anyway, the battle starts in the next chapter!  Hooray!  Finally!  Hope you're all as excited as me, lol.

**Eviefan****:** Thanks!  A quote from Rick O'Connell is praise indeed ;-) I'm so glad you like where the story's going, especially the part with Imhotep...and you're right, no matter how remorseful he is at times or how human...he should pay for what he did.  Anyway, I was happy to hear from you, I love your reviews!  **Jessie McDonald:** Thanks for the review.  Yes, poor Immy...everyone is out to get him.  And he has been having quite a few mood swings lately, hasn't he? (that's a good idea, though...I wish there had been prozac in 1935!) ** Elfpixie:** Awwww, thanks.  Glad you like it, of course.  **MBooker****:** Your reviews always make me laugh. I'm thrilled you still like my epic story...since you've been sticking with me since chapter 1 (don't think I've forgotten!) Thanks! **Ruse:** Well, I'm not sure what part of chap 25 is similar to your idea....but our stories are different enough I'm sure it won't matter ;-), I totally agree with you that some part of Evy, no matter what happened, would sympathize with Imhotep...I just think that's the kind of girl she is.**  Mommints: **Oooh, a double review!  No, just kidding.  I've made you feel bad for Immy, hehe...but don't hate me.  I gave you a lot of Ardeth in this chapter.  Does that help?  **Rawan****:** Thanks!  I'm always happy to see new people start reading my story.  Don't worry, you haven't caused any trauma ;-)  I'll try harder to update, I'll try not to make you wait tooooo long.  Thanks! ;-)

***


	27. The Battle Begins

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: The ****Battle**** Begins**

***

Unable to sleep, Rick woke in the early morning darkness.  The other slaves slept all around him, but Rick knew that it was time for him to wake.  He blinked rapidly, accustoming his eyes to the dim light.  The very air around him shivered with tension.

Slipping out of the slaves' quarters, he walked, feeling the cool night air against his face, trying to relax.  But something kept him awake, urged him onward.  In his gut he knew that today was the day, the day he had been waiting for these last two years.

No one stirred.  Rick walked around the slave compound completely alone, cold in the morning dampness.  His eyes roved over the huge black gates that stood between himself and the desert–and freedom.  They stood, locked, huge testaments to Imhotep's power over those he had conquered.

Rick sighed and exhaled softly in the silence.  He turned, his eyes falling on Imhotep's golden castle.  The giant palace lay darkened and colorless behind him in the early morning.

Abruptly he turned away from Imhotep's palace, leaving it behind him, and turned to face east.  He was ready to watch the rising sun, the dawn of the most important battle ever to be fought. 

Rick stood alone, quietly, ready to face his destiny.

And he felt Anjelica's hand brush his own.

Somehow, for some reason, he was not startled, nor surprised.  He did not turn his head to look at her face, although he knew what he would see: dark hair, grubby clothes, her solid features dim in the meager light.

He did not question her.  The same force which had driven him to the dawn had driven her too, both of them from their beds to the dawning of the final day of judgement.

Rick and Anjelica stood together, alone, in the darkness of the early morning.  The sun had not yet appeared but the sky was slowly lightening all around them.  He could feel her presence, calm and soothing by his side.  She was alert and ready, and Rick felt a small seed of comfort stealing through him.

The tender wind brushed through Rick's hair, and he could feel it ruffle against his skin.  He tightened his fists.  He was ready.

Rick licked his lips, allowing his thoughts to drift over the night before.

The previous night Rick, Adil, and Anjelica had spread the word among the slaves.  Speaking quietly, casually, all three had informed as many prisoners as they could of the coming Med Jai attack.  

The news traveled quickly around the camp in the dark hours of the night.  Secrecy was imperative, but a year and a half in a forced labor camp had taught everyone how to be cautious.  Rick was satisfied at the level of restraint and control that the men he spoke to showed.  Most of them probably did not believe that an attack was actually going to happen, but it did not matter.  As long as they were ready for the possibility, they could join in the fight.

Rick closed his eyes, steadying his churning mind.  He never remembered having this feeling before a battle before–the fluttering in his gut, the hard knot of nervousness in his stomach.

He had never been afraid because he had never lost.  Now he knew that he could lose everything.

"Rick," Anjelica breathed beside him.  Rick opened his eyes.

Dawn had arrived to Egypt.

The sun peaked over the rim of the desert.  The golden rays filled the morning, stretching across the dewy sand, to where Rick and Anjelica quickly shielded their eyes against the brilliant glare.

The burning light shone across the morning, warming the sand under their feet, filling the world with light.  The burning ray warmed his forehead, and for a moment, Rick's vision wavered, and he was not sure what he saw_...he stood, kissed by the sun, blessed by the new day..._

The two solitary souls stood on the sand, looking past the barbed wire fences, taking in the endless desert before them.  Without knowing why, Rick felt his body turning, and he twisted to see Imhotep's palace.

The golden castle had been dulled in the darkness of the early morning.  But now it shone, glimmering brightly in the sunlight.  The gold walls glistened and shimmered.  It almost seemed that the palace was winking at them.

***

Dawn would break soon.

Ardeth, Jonathan, Hubert, and the Med Jai army stood in the dimness of the early morning, assembled in military formation in the open desert.  They stood, waiting tensely, about a mile from Imhotep's palace.

They had been hiding in the mountains to the west, behind Imhotep's grand palace, which faced east to the rising sun.  They now stood, facing the palace's grand backside, waiting for the sun to rise.

It had taken all night to sneak the entire army down to the desert.  Tensed and quiet, the few hundred warriors had climbed slowly down the mountains.  Now the army was finally ready, and Ardeth stood, waiting, at the head of his warriors.

Jonathan stood next to him, and next to Jonathan stood Hubert.  On Ardeth's other side Rashid stood, his scimitar gleaming in the early light.

Pierre and a small group of Med Jai had already snuck forward to break open the slaves' quarters and free the prisoners.  But all of the Med Jai were waiting for Ardeth's signal to begin.

And no one knew what Ardeth was waiting for.

Jonathan fingered the gun in his belt nervously, searching the face of his friend.  Ardeth seemed serene and composed, completely the opposite of the anxious distress Jonathan himself was feeling.  _That man always seems so calm and undisturbed,_ Jonathan grumbled to himself.  _Why does my face betray every fearful thought that crosses my mind?_

"What are we waiting for?" Rashid's voice echoed softly in the growing light.

"I'm not sure," Ardeth replied slowly.

Ardeth turned over his shoulder, letting his piercing gaze sweep over the Med Jai army behind him.  They had all lost their horses long ago.  They stood plainly in their dark robes, armed with nothing but their scimitars.  Ardeth's heart swelled with pride as he looked on them.  They were fulfilling their duty to the land of their ancestors.  And they were following him.

He loved his people so much.  

But he would have to sacrifice them.

Ardeth knew: in this battle many of his people must die.  He took a deep breath, trying to control his emotions.  He knew that he had made the right decision.  He knew he would lead the Med Jai into this battle a thousand times over.  But deciding to attack made him responsible, in part, for the deaths of his friends.

They had to fight to free the world and fulfill their duty.  They had no choice as warriors, as men, and as Med Jai.

But Ardeth's heart twisted.  He had waited so long for this moment, and now, when the day of battle was finally upon him, Ardeth still grappled with the human cost of fulfilling his duty.

_There are no answers.  Only choices._

"Ardeth," Jonathan breathed beside him, and Ardeth turned away from the Med Jai behind him.  His turned his face east to watch as the dawn broke before them.  It was so beautiful.  For a moment, Ardeth wondered how a world that had so much beauty could contain so much evil.

***

Rick shielded his eyes against the newborn sun.  He squinted at Anjelica, and he could see the sun glinting in the grey of her eyes.  But what–the light was fading–

Clouds abruptly began sliding, slowly, across the horizon.  They were moving slowly towards the sun.

"The light–" Anjelica's voice died in her throat.

The clouds moved to where the burning sun lay low in the sky, moving to block the sun's fiery rays.  Abruptly, the light faded, the rays trapped behind the white clouds.  Rick dropped his hand, no longer needing it to shield his eyes.  The desert before him was still light–but it was a muted light, the glory of the sun covered and hidden from their eyes.

He did not move, watching as the clouds that covered the sun began to grey, darkening before his eyes.  The blue sky faded, as though it might rain, and the clouds looked darker and heavier.

"What's happening?" Anjelica asked, twisting her hands together nervously.

"The earth is bunkering down for a fight," Rick replied.  His calloused hands tightened around the manacles fastened on his wrists.

***

The sun shone brightly across the desert towards where the Med Jai were gathered.  The backside of the castle looked dull and dim, and that lack of brilliance somehow comforted Ardeth.

"When will we begin?" Rashid pressed, nervously drawing and brandishing his sword.

Ardeth sighed, pressing his lips together.  "I will know when I know."

Rashid wisely remained silent.  Behind him, Ardeth could hear the nervous breathing of his army.  He sighed, hoping they were ready.

"The light–Ardeth, old chap, the light's going–" Jonathan's amazed voice cut through the air.

Ardeth looked up abruptly, watching as clouds covered the sun and the sky darkened before him.  The sky continued to slowly grey overhead.  The wind picked up and Ardeth could feel the breeze through his hair.

And he knew that the Gods themselves were preparing for this battle.

It was time.

Ardeth sighed.  He reached down to the sand and lifted the black Book of the Dead.  At Ardeth's nod Jonathan lifted the key out of his pocket.  Placing it in the book's lock and turning it expertly, the book slowly clicked open.

Jonathan looked for the last time upon the cover, his eyes alighting once again on the winged scarab.  The chiseled image gleamed on the dark obsidian.

***

Rick and Anjelica still stood, facing the gray dawn.  Slaves and guards alike stood in the open slave compound, but hardly anyone moved.  Everyone was oddly silent and still in the morning.  They were all watching the rapidly greying sky.

The sky continued to darken, turning a dark gray, and the clouds hung heavily.  The wind picked up, blowing ominously through the camp.

It was as though everyone–slaves and mummies alike–recognized that today was different from all other days.  Everyone waited, tensed and poised, for what would happen.

Rick shivered in the cool air, although not from chill.

"What are we waiting for, Rick?" Anjelica asked, finally breaking the silence.

Rick sighed, watching as the sky seemed to turn a shade darker.  "I don't know," he confessed, feeling a breeze blow through the camp.

"The world is darkening." Anjelica shivered.  

Rick gave her a quick smile of reassurance.  "But we're ready for it."

She sighed and looked down, tucking some of her sandy brown hair behind her ears.  "I was in the military for fifteen years.  But I don't know if it will be enough."

"Who can say how much is enough?"  Rick looked back up at the sky.  "We will each give whatever we can.  There's no other way."

The two stood in silence, mentally readying themselves for whatever would come.

"Rick–" she hesitated.  "If I don't live through this battle, will you find my father?"

Rick looked at her, then nodded silently.

Anjelica sighed, pressing her lips together to keep her churning emotions in control.

As if to answer her unspoken thoughts, Rick spoke, his voice rough with feeling.  "After this day–" Rick's voice caught in his throat.  "After this day there will only be one side left."

She looked into Rick's eyes, finally admitting aloud the thoughts that had been plaguing her these past few days.  "I don't want to live in this world anymore if there are no choices.  If all we can do is follow the whims of a madman."

"If Imhotep wins this battle there will be no world left."  Rick sighed, closing his eyes and exhaling heavily.  "I won't live in this world any longer without my wife and son."

Anjelica's eyes glistened as she looked on the face of her friend.  "Oh Rick," she murmured, strands of her tangled brown hair dancing across her face.  "We will triumph.  We must."

Rick swallowed, finally looking over and meeting her eyes.  She was tall for a woman and only a few inches shorter than him.  He gave her a faint smile.  "Thank you."

She nodded, biting her lip, looking at him tenderly.  He was the brother she never had.  "I'm ready."

Rick turned, looking back out into the desert.  "I've been ready for two years."

Anjelica looked up at the sky, the clouds darkening and muting all but a tiny bit of sunlight.  She licked her lips nervously.  "I'm ready.  But I'm not afraid of this battle, Rick."

He looked down at her, her long brown hair whipping around her head.  "What are you afraid of?"

She met his eyes.  "What happens after."

The pair silently readied themselves for whatever would come.

***

For the first time in his life, Jonathan said nothing.  Releasing the key, he swallowed and knew his hands were shaking.  He was more scared than he had ever been in his life.  But he had never been more determined.

Ardeth, meeting Jonathan's eyes, recognized the look in them.  Giving his friend a quick nod of support and encouragement, Ardeth swung open the cover of the Book of the Dead.

There he paused.  He stopped and took one last look behind him at the Med Jai army.  Finally, taking one, final deep breath, Ardeth turned his gaze and his concentration to the Book of the Dead.  Opening his mouth, Ardeth prepared to read aloud the sacred words that would bring the dead from their graves to walk once again upon the shattered earth.

And Ardeth began to speak.

The words, hallowed and ancient, flowed from his mouth.  Spoken only a few times in recorded history, the words were the floodgates of incredible power.  They were the ability to change time, the ability to alter the irreversible human procession of birth, life, and death.  

Once spoken, the words blurred the line between the dead and the living.

_"Sooayah Haram Aktus Sinmas Ibet Baya Imatipen Simpeek et Sooay Eyatooway Eyatooway Eyatooway."_

The eternal words echoed from Ardeth's mouth.  He looked up from the dark text, bracing himself for whatever would come.  The entire Med Jai army waited, tensed, for the response.

And then it came.

With a sudden crash and a roar, the very earth before them cracked and split apart.

The desert sands slid into the opening abyss, the earth shaking and trembling beneath them.  The Med Jai staggered in the earthquake, struggling to remain standing as the split in the earth widened.  Tremors spread out for miles as Ardeth could see the entire desert as far as the eye could see shaking and shuddering.

The Black Book fell from Ardeth's hands as he staggered.  The book fell, sliding with the sand towards the great opening chasm in the earth.

"No!" Ardeth yelled, but his voice was drowned out by the screaming wind.  He watched stricken as the book slid towards the cleaving desert.

But he couldn't stop it as it slid, sand sliding and covering it, until the book suddenly disappeared, falling into the gaping hole to the underworld.  "It's gone," Ardeth whispered to himself in shock.  All around him the Med Jai were shouting, struggling to maintain control as the earth trembled and roared beneath them.

Chunks of sand flew into Ardeth's eyes and he covered his face with his hands, desperately resisting falling to his knees.

And the fabric of time rippled as the earth parted, perverting and twisting the natural human cycles of life and death.  Ardeth watched, frozen in disbelief and fear at what he had done.

***

Rick heard a huge rumbling and a crack of thunder, and suddenly the very earth beneath his feet began to shake.  The desert beneath him trembled and shook violently.  Rick shouted and fell to his knees, shutting his eyes as a gust of sand blew into his face.

He quickly opened them again, grabbing Anjelica's arm from where she crouched next to him on the sand.  Shouting filled the air as people began running, desperate to escape the shaking earth.  Men and women stumbled and fell, screaming for help.

Rick could hear the sounds of the mummy guards bellowing as the slaves disobeyed orders.  He helped Anjelica up, the two of them surrounded by frantic and panicking prisoners.

Some of the mummy guards began running away from the rebelling slaves towards their special locked entrance.  "Imhotep!" one of them brayed, brandishing its sword.  Its dark body oozing in the gray light, the beast turned and sprinted frantically towards the exit, shouting for its master.

There was complete confusion as the slaves began to revolt.

***

Ardeth stared at the fantastical scene unraveling before him.  He blinked, sure what he saw was a fantasy or an illusion of his exhausted mind.  He blinked again, disbelieving what he saw, the sight utterly surreal.

From the bowels of the earth came the dead, marching stiffly towards the living.

The entire army of dead burst from the underworld to the surface of the desert in streams, walking stiffly, their hands at their sides.  Row after row of them emerged, each perfectly in formation.  Each second thousands more emerged, falling into place beside their dead comrades.

"They have no weapons," Rashid yelled to Ardeth over the loud noises.

"No matter!" Ardeth screamed back against the wind.  "They're only a distraction!"

Finally, after what seemed like hours, the entire army surfaced.  Before him stood hundreds of thousands of dead bodies in military formation, awaiting orders.  With a jolt, the great chasm in the earth shuddered and began to close, spitting up sand as it contracted.

Finally the walls of the earth joined together with a roar, the pathway to the underworld once again closed.

The army stood, still and waiting.  Ardeth and the Med Jai straightened in the sudden quiet and stillness.  Ardeth's gaze roved over where the chasm had been.  It looked pure, pristine, flat: as though it had never happened.

He looked behind him quickly at the Med Jai army.  They were ruffled and wary, but ready.  Ardeth turned towards the army of the dead.

They were ready for their orders.

"To the palace!" Ardeth screamed, his voice echoing across the sand.  "Kill Imhotep!"

And the army, thousands and thousands of dead soldiers, as well as the Med Jai warriors, began marching towards the palace.

***

Pierre reached the gates of the slaves quarters first.  With about twenty Med Jai warriors closely behind, they charged the huge black gates.  Within, they could see men and women running around, yelling and screaming, some desperately trying to get off their chains, others trying to hide, yet others battling the mummy guards where they stood with whatever weapons they had found lying around.

"On three!" one of the Med Jai shouted, and the warriors charged the gates.  They hurled their weight against it, and the gates heaved, groaning.

"One more time!" Pierre echoed, and the twenty warriors threw themselves again at the great gates.  The gates leaned back but did not break.

"Again!" the cry was heard, and the Med Jai heaved their forms at the huge gate.  Finally, with a groan, it broke open.

The prisoners now had access to the open desert.

***

The Med Jai came in attacking, cutting down the mummies where they saw them and freeing the slaves when they could.

Pierre edged through the mess, sand flying up into his face as he tried to find the one man he was looking for.

He narrowly dodged a blade from a mummy and kept going.  All around him Med Jai were cutting the chains off of the men and giving them weapons to fight Imhotep.

Pierre coughed in the dust as a burly man pushed into him, but Pierre kept going.  He heard shouts of freedom as people began running towards the broken gates.

Finally he saw the man he wanted.  The legend himself stood, tensed and ready, his arm clutching a brown haired woman.  They stood cautiously against the side of a building, warily watching the screaming and fighting slaves and mummies.

Pierre walked up quickly, hanging his sword at his side, and approached them.  He met Rick's eyes.  "So you are O'Connell."  

The broad shouldered man looked back at him warily, then held out his chained hands.

Without a word Pierre swung his sword down, breaking the chains that held Rick's wrists together.  Rick shook off the manacles, rubbing his wrists.  He looked up at Pierre.

The two men stared at each other.

A grin crept across Rick's dusty face.  "Call me Rick."

Pierre grinned back.  "Pierre.  Friend of your brother-in-law.  I've heard a lot about you."

Rick smiled, happily taking the sword Pierre handed to him.  "Glad to meet you."

"Anjelica," the woman said, holding out her arms.

Pierre quickly sliced off her manacles as well.  She sighed with satisfaction.  "Thanks," she said simply.

"Let's get out of here," Pierre began, about to fill them in on the rest of the plan.

"O'Connell!" A mummy bellowed, its black oozing body striding menacingly towards him.  The soldier mummy drew a sword, brandishing it as he paced towards Rick.  "O'Connell!"

"I hate mummies," Rick muttered to himself.  He sighed and turned the sword expertly in his hand, watching the undead creature come for him.  "I'll take care of this," Rick said resignedly.

Pierre and Anjelica watched with interest as the mummy stalked towards their friend. 

Rick tensed, ready.

The mummy threw himself at him and Rick expertly dodged the creature's blade.  The mummy's weight carried him past Rick, and turning, Rick swung the sword over his head and sliced it through the mummy's neck.

"I've missed my weapons," Rick commented dryly as the mummy's head lopped off, falling onto the sand.

"Nice," Pierre commented admiringly, his lower lip jutting out in appreciation.

More slaves rushed by them, tossing off their manacles as they ran for cover and freedom.  Most did not understand that a final battle was being waged, but they understood that this was their chance at liberty from Imhotep.

Rick, Pierre, and Anjelica stood over the headless body of the mummy, watching the commotion.  Most of the guards had fled, searching for Imhotep.  A few had stayed to fight, but they were no match for the Med Jai and for the angry slaves.  

Anjelica reached down and pried the sword from the prone mummy's hand.  She lifted it and swung it, testing its weight and feel.  "It's been a long time," she admitted, admiring the long golden blade. 

"Let's get out of here," Pierre said again, gesturing to the huge black gates which had been smashed open.

"Sounds great," Rick said, taking a step towards them.  Suddenly, he heard slicing sound.  He half turned to see a mummy explode before his eyes.  The decomposed body flew apart, a shower of black goo raining down on him.

"Yuk!" Rick exclaimed.  As the mummy's spray fell to the ground, he saw Anjelica standing in ready position, her sword naked in her hand.

She shrugged.  "He wanted to cut off your head."

Rick looked down at the gooey mess on the ground.  "Thanks," he said grinning.

"Let's go, Rick," she responded, swinging the golden blade.  The three of them turned and began running towards the smashed black gates.

As they reached the gates, Rick slowed, taking one last look at the place that had been his home for a year and a half.   Chains and blood filled the sandy ground.  Mummy and human bodies alike lay, dead and dying.  Screams and yells filled the air as people ran for freedom, shoving each other in their attempt at reaching the open desert.  It was a mess: a brutal, bloody mess.

The battle was just beginning.

Rick sighed, turning and seeing the way to freedom.  All he had to do was step outside of these gates.  He began walking, beyond the huge black gates, and into the desert.  He was leaving that part of his life behind him forever.  

He would never again be a slave.

***

Rick, Pierre, and Anjelica broke into a run.  As they cleared the giant slaves compound, all three skidded to a halt.  They stood, shocked and still, staring amazed at the sight that greeted them.

Thousands of the dead were marching alongside the Med Jai warriors towards the palace.  Pierre's mouth gaped open at the dead masses coming towards him.

Rick tightened his grip on his sword.  This was it.  The battle had begun.

***

Never thought we'd get here, did ya ;-) Thanks to Ruse (always love your reviews!), MBooker (for always making me smile), Mommints (more evil ideas? send them along!), Aulizia (so glad you're back ;-), and Anya (my 200th reviewer!!)

Oh, and the words Ardeth speaks to raise the dead...well, I did my best to transpose to writing what Evy says in TM...I listened to that part of the DVD at least fifteen times, so I did my best ;-)  If anyone has a book or something that has the words written down, plz email me and tell me what she actually reads ;-) Thanks!


	28. The Army of Anubis

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Army of Anubis**

***

Imhotep's eyes flew open.

Suddenly, and without warning, his chest heaved in the dim light and his entire body began trembling.

He lay on his huge canopied bed, a down comforter thrown over his muscled form.  Beside him Anck-su-namun slept soundly.  He could sense her aura next to him–she was relaxed and lost in dreams.

She did not feel what he felt.

Ancient magic surged through his body, painful and raw.  He gasped in the dim morning light, his body racked by painful spasms.  Even as the agony rushed through him, he knew it was not a physical pain.  The pain was entirely spiritual.

The ancient words from the black book had been spoken aloud.  As Lord of the Dead, Imhotep felt the surge of life flowing through his deceased brethren course through his own body like blood.  Even though the spell no longer affected him, he could still feel the tingling in his bones, the after-effects of unholy power unleashed on the world of the living.

As the pain slowly subsided, a small knot of dread wrenched at his stomach.  They were coming for him.  He couldn't define who they were, or what exactly they would do.  All he knew was that they had come to challenge him for his crown.  He could feel the air shivering with power. 

His body trembling, Imhotep sat up quickly.  He jumped out of bed and wrapped his black robe around his body.  The bed jostled and Anck-su-namun stirred, only her black hair visible above the white blankets.

Anck-su-namun was blissfully unaware of what was happening in the world outside.

But she could still sense him.  Feeling the bed jostle, and feeling the warmth of his body gone from her side, Anck-su-namun woke slowly.  She turned over and rubbed her eyes, stifling a yawn.  Blinking up at him rapidly, she immediately noticed he was standing, tense and agitated.  "What's going on?" she asked sleepily.

"I must go," Imhotep said, speaking the first thing that came to his mind.

Her eyes narrowed in apprehension as she sat up slowly.  "What are you talking about?"

"There is a battle underway."  Imhotep's eyes locked with hers.

"A battle?" Her eyes widened.  Her black hair was unbound and messy, flung carelessly over her shoulders.

"The battle for possession of the world," Imhotep replied slowly, and as the words left his mouth he suddenly knew that they were true.

Anck-su-namun gasped in the dim light.  "They are attacking you?"

He nodded, his eyes roaming over her face.  For a second he felt he was unable to breathe, the pain lancing sharply through him.  Gods, it seemed that they had only been together for a heartbeat!

"I must make ready and prepare for this fight."  He moved towards her, sitting himself on the edge of the bed.  She leaned forward, and they sat, their foreheads touching gently.

The seconds stretched.  Time slowed.  Could they not stay like this forever?  Imhotep gently brushed his fingertips against her cheek.

She reached up and caught at his hand with her own.

"My love," she whispered, her voice catching in her throat.  "What can I do?"

He memorized her face, the proud nose, high cheek bones, lips full and soft.  He peered into her eyes, and what he saw there broke his heart.

He saw struggle, and fear, and pain, and sorrow.   And yes, there was still love, a deep and unyielding love.  But he knew that they were both tormented, they were both struggling for happiness.

They could never be happy while he suffered from the Hom-Dai.

But what twisted the knife in his heart was the searing knowledge that they were no happier than they had been three millennia ago.  They had traded chains of servitude for crowns of gold, but they were still tormented; trapped in the lives they had built for themselves.

Imhotep closed his eyes, trying to squeeze away the pain.  He had struggled and fought so hard for this woman's love.  He had wanted to give her the world.

But he had failed.  He had failed utterly and completely.  He swallowed, the taste of ruin bitter on his lips.

There was nothing left for him.  Anck-su-namun was mortal and good.  The purity radiated off of her skin, sharp against the growing corruption and evil in his soul.  He looked down, unable to meet her eyes.

"Imhotep," she said again, touching his chin, pulling his eyes up to hers.  Her voice caught, rough as though from disuse, and he could see the torment in her eyes.  "What can I do?"

Even in death and defeat she would go with him.  He did not deserve her loyalty, nor her love.

"Find the Book of the Living, and protect it," he replied softly, clutching at her hand.  At least that would keep her out of the way.  Perhaps, if she lived through this, she could find somewhere to be happy in this new world.  He had brought her nothing but pain and ruin.

"I must go," he whispered.

Without speaking she reached for him, pulled him into her arms, and as he felt her soft form fold against his body he knew that this was his final chance.  Her lips pressed against his and he forgot everything but his love for her, his desire for her, his need to protect her and care for her.  He had wanted nothing but to give her a true life.  A life away from Seti.  A life where she could live with him in peace and happiness.

He tasted her, the feel of her mouth familiar and yet, now, somehow utterly sad.  He felt himself on the verge of tears as he pressed his tongue further inside her, needing her beyond what he could voice into words.  She sensed his urgency and wrapped her arms around his back, needing him too.

Oh, that this moment could go on forever.  That this moment could be stretched into hours, that he could preserve the feeling of her against him, that he could somehow always remember her like this.

Somewhere on the line between ecstacy and grief, he slowly drew away.  Her black eyes gazed back at him, haunted and desperate.  Somewhere, deep in those luminous orbs, he saw a flicker of fear.

He would do anything to protect her.  And he knew what he had to do.

To save her life, to protect her, he had to sacrifice his soul.

The time had come.

***

"Let's go!" Rick shouted into the wind.  He began running, with Anjelica and Pierre close behind him, towards the Med Jai army.  All around him were the other escaping prisoners.  Some were running away to safety, some were standing and gawking at the sight before them.  But many were running behind Rick, their unspoken leader, running with him towards their liberators.

And in the front of the army of the dead strode the Med Jai.

Rick breathed heavily as he ran, feeling Anjelica pumping beside him, her long brown hair flowing in the wind.  As they ran, and the army marched towards them, the gap between them quickly closed.  As they neared the invading army, Rick could make out the faces of the Med Jai, the black tattoos contrasting sharply with their copper skin.

Suddenly, from the huge mass of marching bodies, the shout was heard.  "Halt!" 

A Med Jai voice issued the command, and within seconds the thousands of marching bodies came to a halt.  The Med Jai and the dead stopped in the desert, only a mile from Imhotep's palace, waiting for the freed slaves to join them.

Rick slowed, approaching the front ranks of the black robed warriors, and as he approached a man stepped forward, his scimitar gleaming in the dark air.

A man who looked achingly familiar.

"Ardeth!" Rick called, his heart thrusting up into his throat.  His brother lived.  Ardeth was alive.  He had freed him and they would fight Imhotep once again, like in the old days, when they were all young together–

"My friend." Ardeth's smile stretched across his entire face, and Rick could have sworn that no time had passed since they had been together.  The two men embraced as more than brothers.  They embraced as Med Jai.

No words were necessary.  Rick and Ardeth broke apart, looking each other over at arms length.  Had it really been two years?

"I am so glad to see you safe," Ardeth began, as more and more slaves reached them, standing behind Rick expectantly.

"Me too, old chum."  Another figure stepped out from the black robed warriors.  Rick had been so intent on Ardeth he had completely missed the second man.

"Jonathan!" Rick enveloped the other man in a huge hug.  Jonathan sputtered good-naturedly in Rick's steel embrace.

"I didn't know you missed me this much," Jonathan got out, squeezed tightly in Rick's arms.

"I've missed everything," Rick said, releasing his brother-in-law.  "And boy am I glad to see you all."  Rick's grin was plastered across his face as he felt his entire body swell up with happiness.  Here he was, back with his old friends, fighting Imhotep like in the old days.  He no longer felt helpless and trapped.  He was out in the open, ready to fight with a sword in his hand.  He felt hope and happiness surge through him so strongly they were almost painful.

Med Jai warriors quickly began handing the freed slaves the remaining extra weapons, and Rick watched as the various men and women, newly armed, joined in with the Med Jai ranks.  It was almost unbelievable.  After waiting for so long the battle was finally here.

He turned and met Anjelica's eyes, and he knew that he might not have made it this far without her support.  "This is Anjelica," he said motioning to her.  At Ardeth's nod, Rick continued the hasty introduction.  "And this is Ardeth Bay and Jonathan Carnahan."

Anjelica did not speak.  She only nodded her head to Jonathan and the Med Jai chieftain in respect.

"Thank Allah you are safe!"  The familiar voice interrupted their thoughts as another man came up from behind them.  Adil's breathless face suddenly came into view as he stood next to Rick, panting heavily.  "I was fighting the mummies and lost track of you."

Ardeth gave a silent sigh of relief at seeing young Adil safe, and he made a place for the young man at his side.  Adil joined the Med Jai ranks proudly as Ardeth turned his attention back to Rick, knowing that the time for the battle had come.   "There will be time for reunions later, my old friends.  Now we must fight."

Rick, Anjelica, and Pierre fell into ranks beside the Med Jai.  Clutching their weapons, the army made ready.  "March!" Ardeth cried out.  His command echoed.

Once again the Med Jai and the army of the dead advanced.

***

Imhotep could feel the very air around him shivering with magic. 

He raced towards the balcony in the back of his palace.  He knew that time was running out.  If he was to succeed, he needed to act quickly.

He rushed through the dark hallways, turning the corner abruptly into the dim light of the morning.  He slowed, blinking in the light, as he stepped onto the balcony.  Placing his hands firmly on the railing, he stared out into the desert.

He watched as thousands upon thousands of the dead walked towards his palace.  It was impossible.  Yet there they were, marching towards him.  In the back of his mind something flickered with understanding, and Imhotep realized that they had found the Book of the Dead.

"My lord!"

Imhotep turned slowly, ripping his eyes away from the sight below him.  "What?" he asked roughly, facing the messenger who stood trembling before him.

"My lord, the gates to the slave compound have been smashed open."  The man stood, the beginnings of hysteria obvious in his shaking hands.

"The slaves have escaped?" Imhotep mentally calculated how many men he had imprisoned.

"Yes, sire, they have all escaped.  The slaves compound is practically deserted."

"Damn," Imhotep muttered, turning back to watch as the army of the dead continued to slowly march towards him.

"But that's not all, my lord."

Imhotep turned around slowly.  "What else?"

The man hesitated, deathly afraid.  "It was the Med Jai, Sire."

Imhotep drew in his breath sharply.  "The Med Jai?" he asked, his voice going dangerously quiet.

"Yes," he stuttered in response.  "The Med Jai.  It was they who smashed open the gates to the slaves' compound."

Imhotep turned back.  His eyes searched the thousands of marching men.  And, yes, near the front, to the side, were men in black robes, men and women marching in black robes, with swords–

With black markings on their faces.  

The Med Jai had returned.  They had freed his slaves.  They had raised the dead.  And they were attacking him.

For the first time, Imhotep realized that he was afraid.

***

Evy rushed to the back of the palace.  She could feel the power in the air, shimmering all around her.  She knew, deep in her heart, in the fibers of her body, that this was the final battle against Imhotep.

She ran to a balcony in the back of the palace, Alex running at her heels.  In her fear and excitement she hadn't had the heart to tell him to stay behind.  He was ten years old now, it was his life too: he had a right to see what the future of the world would be.

"Alex, here," Evy whispered urgently, pushing aside the heavy red brocade curtain.  Murky light flooded the small hallway as mother and son stepped beyond the curtain and onto the balcony.

Before them, the army of dead advanced.

Alex gasped, and Evy reached for him unseeingly, her eyes locked on the advancing army.  Her hands found his small shoulders and she hugged him against her body.  But she couldn't tear her eyes away from the sight before her.

_...the dead marched towards her, their eyes staring sightlessly ahead, boils on their rotting skin...they were coming to kill her, kill her and Jonathan and Rick and Ardeth...they were chanting, their words cold and toneless..."Imhotep, Imhotep, Imhotep"...it was night, the darkness closed all around her, and the dead followed him, stalked them, cornered them...the walking dead offered them up to their dark leader, the Lord of the Dead...ah, he were coming to sacrifice her, to take her life so that the woman he loved would live..._

Evy blinked rapidly, forcing her consciousness back to the present.  That time in Cairo had been over twelve years ago.  And the dead weren't calling Imhotep's name.  They were marching towards the palace menacingly, as though they meant him harm.  Was it possible?  But who had summoned the dead?

"Mom, what's going on?" Alex's small questioning voice cut into her thoughts.

"Honey, I don't–" Evy stopped.  Her eyes had caught some men in dark robes marching next to the dead, men with swords–mortal men.  Live men.  Med Jai.  "The Med Jai live," she said slowly, not believing her eyes.  Could Ardeth be alive?

Could Rick be with them?

Her heart swelled with hope.  Maybe they could end this nightmare, once and for all.  Maybe it really was possible.

Imhotep was being attacked.  The army of dead would certainly distract him.  Suddenly, in a searing stroke, Evy knew exactly what she had to do.  She saw her role in the battle as clearly as if Ra himself had shown her.  

"Alex," Evy began slowly, ripping her eyes away from the advancing dead.  "I have to go take care of something."  She knelt before her son until they were eye to eye on the balcony.

"Mum, I've faced Imhotep before.  I can help."  He looked at her bravely, and Evy knew that her son was cut from the same cloth as she was, as his father was.  She felt her heart ripping painfully at her chest.  Love and fear and hope surged through her. She gathered her son into her arms, feeling his growing body next to hers.

_He was so young, he was still a growing boy..._Evy clutched him to her, her entire body filling with love for him.  Could she explode from too much love?   "Alex, you're all I have left.  If anything happened to me I would never forgive myself."

"Mum, I want to do something.  It's my life too."  His small body trembled in her arms, and Evy clutched him tighter.

"No Alex.  Go back to our quarters and stay there until I come for you."  Evy pulled away slightly, her eyes roving over Alex's young face.  _Yes, in his eyes, she could see Rick, staring back at her–_

"But I can help daddy fight–"

"Honey, no," Evy interrupted him tenderly.  "This is for your father and I to fight.  This is our battle.  Not yours.  Do you understand?"

Alex took a deep breath.  Finally he bit his lip and nodded slowly.

"I love you so much," Evy got out, almost unable to speak for the blinding emotions swirling through her.  She held her child, the few seconds stretching into a timeless moment.

Finally, knowing it was time, Evy stood.  She took one last look at her child, planted one last kiss on his brow, and walked out towards her destiny.

***

"It can't be this easy," Rick muttered to himself as he advanced, striding forward, his hand on the hilt of his blade.  The army of Med Jai and the dead were marching unopposed across open desert towards the palace.  No sign of resistence had yet been spotted.  The mummies had all disappeared back inside the palace.  Where was Imhotep?

"Patience, my friend," Ardeth cautioned from his side.  "Imhotep has not yet responded to our attack.  He will."

And in his gut, Rick knew he was right.  Imhotep would strike back.  The only question was how.

***

Imhotep stood on the balcony of his golden palace, watching as the dead and the Med Jai army slowly advanced towards him.

For the first time, he understood what it was to be the hunted.

They were coming to make him mortal.  And then they would kill him.

Ruling the world in this day was nothing like ruling the world three millennia ago.  He had thought that he could bring about a rebirth of Ancient times, that he could complete the cycle of history by bringing the Egypt of the Pharaohs into the new modern world.

He was wrong.  It was a different time.

He had failed.

But he would not fail in this final battle.  Imhotep hardened his heart.  The past did not matter.  He was not the man he had been.  He was the new Imhotep, ruler of the world.  And he would defend his crown and his queen, no matter what the cost.

He knew that if he were to triumph, if he were to find any semblance of peace, he would have to embrace the evil in his soul.  He would have to become his destiny: a walking plague upon the bleeding earth.

He turned slightly from the light, hiding part of his face in shadows.

If that was his destiny–to forever be "The Mummy"–then he would fulfill it.  Thousands of years of torment had led him up to this single moment.

And Imhotep stepped out into the light.  

He raised his face to the heavens, stretching out his arms.  He spread his arms like wings, the fingers spreading and reaching upwards.  This was his final chance to save Anck-su-namun and his rule of the earth.  If he had indeed been fulfilling his destiny, if he had indeed walked the path chosen for him, then the Gods would protect him.

He felt his heart fill with pain as he opened his mouth.  Whatever was human in him would be gone forever.  But perhaps it wouldn't be so bad.  At least he would have peace.

Offering his physical body up to the heavens, Imhotep began to speak.  He cried out into the desert, as though the very winds and sands of his home would hear his plea.

"If I am truly of you, oh Gods," he cried out, "then give me what is my due!  Give me your greatest army, so that I shall conquer and triumph over my enemies!"

His cry echoed in the desert.  In response, thunder rumbled in the distance.  Imhotep watched, spellbound, as the weather grew gray and stormy.  Wind began whipping past his head.  He could feel the power of the desert flow through him.

Lightening cracked in the distance, a jagged streak of light that flashed across the sky.  The earth rumbled.  The world darkened before his eyes, the sun obliterated behind the growing storm.  Imhotep could see the desert sands sliding and churning. 

He waited, standing, his arms thrown out to the sides, his body splayed.  He stood as a supplicant, offering himself to their whims.  He was offering his soul for victory.

But nothing happened.  Where was the response?  Had all of the Gods abandoned him?  

Lightening again streaked the sky, a sharp flash of illumination against the graying world.  Wind ruffled his robes as the army of the dead continued to march mindlessly towards him.

His own death flashed before his eyes.  

In a final act of desperation, Imhotep screamed out his last prayer.

Screaming into the stormy desert, Imhotep demanded what was his.  He demanded the response he deserved, the protection of the Gods who had punished him, who had rewarded him, who had played with his mind and soul.

"You placed me here, you gave me this crown!  You must fulfill your end of the bargain!"  His voice cracked, harsh and feral.  He bellowed the last command, desperation and anger screaming out of his throat.  His eyes flashed in the growing storm as he spread his arms in a final gesture of supplication. 

"Defend your chosen one!"

His cry echoed in the barren desert.  For a single moment, Imhotep truly believed that he had been completely and utterly abandoned.

But then his prayer was answered.

With a roar, the very heavens split open.  Imhotep looked up, his arms splayed to his sides, and his eyes widened in fear.  The sheer power that emanated from the sky humbled him.  He wanted to bow his head in respect, but he could not rip his eyes away from the sight.

The dark clouds parted and lightening from the sky of God cracked and struck the harmless sand.  Wind rushed all around him and Imhotep felt his black robes billowing around his body.  The sky flashed with electricity.

And then, from the arms of the Egyptian's darkest God, came Imhotep's immortal army.

From the cleaving heavens, a great black tornado descended to earth.  The black cyclone was a writhing mess.  It churned and thrashed as though alive.

The spinning wind tunnel, black as night, descended slowly to the sand.  It fell slowly to the earth directly in front of Imhotep's palace, forming between the huge castle and the army trying to invade it.  There was no mistaking what this was: an army to defend and protect the Pharaoh of the world. 

The sinister hurricane suddenly stopped spinning and spread out, leaking through the air like black water.  It looked like a dark blanket had suddenly been draped cruelly over the desert.  The wind whipped so hard Imhotep took a half step back from the balcony, watching stunned as his army formed before his eyes.

Imhotep saw the advancing army of dead and Med Jai halt, watching spell-bound.  They all watched silently as the Gods reached their long shining hands onto the earth and changed the fate of the world forever.

The screaming black wind draped itself over the sand....and then it seemed to turn into sand itself.  Imhotep strained to see what was happening as the heavens, raging and screaming, slowly closed themselves up again.  Lightening cracked and blinded his vision.

When he could see again warriors were rising out of the dark sands.  They were jackals with golden collars, brandishing huge curving swords.

Imhotep closed his eyes.  He flickered them open again, looking down upon his army, an immortal army of man-dogs hell bent on blood.  He gave a short, harsh laugh, throwing one last look up to the heavens.  He knew exactly what had happened.

He had begged the Gods for an army to lead him to triumph.

And only Anubis had answered.

***

Ardeth looked grimly at the army forming before them, an army he recognized.  He turned and met Rick's eyes.  "I must stay with my people to fight the army of Anubis."

Rick nodded.  "I have to go to the palace and find Evy."

Ardeth nodded quickly, understanding how each of them had different roles in this fight.  It was not his place to fight Rick's battles, nor could Rick stay behind and fight with Ardeth.

Not many people understood the bond between the two different men, but they truly were brothers in spirit.  Ardeth could feel it in the air, palpable, as though he could touch it with his fingers.  He could almost feel Rick's frenzied heartbeat next to his own.

"Take Jonathan," Ardeth insisted, nodding his head at the Englishman.  "He has the key."

Jonathan swallowed, feeling the key resting heavily in his pants pocket.  He had dreamt about this moment for months, and now that it was finally here he was consumed with conflicting emotions.  He was afraid, he was mindlessly afraid.  But he had never wanted to help Evy more in his life.

"I'm ready, old boy," he got out, his hand instinctively going to the handgun in his holster.  And as he said it, he knew that it was true.  He was ready.  He felt a small seed of comfort steal through him.

Rick nodded, then turned quickly to Anjelica.  He hated to leave her, but she was not meant for the palace.  That was his fight, and Evy's fight, and even Jonathan's fight.  Not hers.  She was not involved–her soul was not inextricably interwoven with their turbulent past.  "Stay and fight with Ardeth.  He needs you here."

Anjelica nodded, obeying his command.  She sensed something in these men; knew that their souls were interwoven in a complex tapestry she could never completely understand.  She was an outsider here.  She would help in any way that she could, but it was not her fight.  She nodded again, reassuringly, and drew her golden blade from its sheath.  It sliced through the crisp air.

For a last moment, Rick stood, watching as the army of Anubis formed in front of them.  It was truly an incredible sight.

With a determined sigh Rick turned away.  He gave Anjelica one last encouraging nod as he grabbed Jonathan's arm.  "Let's go," he said.  

"You got it, old boy." Jonathan clapped Rick on the back.  Without another word, Rick and Jonathan began running towards the palace.  They skirted wide around the forming sand-jackals, running around the side of the palace at top speed.  They were looking for a way in.

"Make ready!" Ardeth's cry echoed and he could feel his fellow warriors tensing.  There was nothing left to do but wait, and fight.

***

Imhotep watched silently as his army formed from the black sand.  As each jackal came fully into being it shook sand from its head and growled, baring razor sharp teeth.

He was no fool.  He knew that he had been abandoned by Osiris, his own God, the God he had loved and served all of his natural life.  He had turned away from him.

But Anubis remained at his side.  He was honoring the dark power in Imhotep's soul and offering him a final chance.

And Imhotep took it.  He had been given his chance, and he would defend his throne to the last.  He wrapped himself completely around the evil in his soul.  It was him now.  And it was time. 

From somewhere, Imhotep heard the dark laughter of the Gods echoing in his ear.  And suddenly Imhotep felt his very soul twist and scream inside his body.  Pain shot through him, as though someone were trying to rip out his very heart.

They were taking his humanity away.

He had pledged his soul for the Army of a God.  And now he must fulfill his end of the bargain.

As the human part of his soul was ripped away, Imhotep felt a gaping emptiness fill him.  He gasped and clawed at his chest as part of his being was torn away.  He gasped, feeling hollow inside.  He felt deserted and empty and meaningless.   For a searing moment, Imhotep fully understood just what he had sacrificed.

But then, slowly, the pain subsided.  He felt his mind cloud and darken.  And he felt the hole inside of him slowly press back together, now filled with an evil hunger for death and destruction.

And Imhotep finally succumbed, after three millennia, to the unholy curse in his soul.

He had been given power, and it flowed through him, a drug, a waterfall of force and vengeance.  He heard his voice echo in the desert as he issued his final command.

"Attack!" he screamed, his voice harsh against the burning wind.

His new army turned in formation, eagerly baring their teeth and growling for blood.  In unison they drew their weapons and began to march towards the army of the dead.

Here, on this day, on this desert, Imhotep and the Med Jai would battle for the final time.

***

In the air, the light, and the shadows, the divine voices spoke, observing the shattered world beneath them.

"The battle has begun."  The Goddess stated the fact dispassionately.  The voice, beautiful as the glimmer of sun on raindrops, flowed through the air.  

The younger voice beside her mother remained silent.

She continued.  "Each player is fulfilling their destiny.  Many will fight, some will die, all will complete the task required of them."

Suddenly, the wind changed, and the two voices were no longer alone.  A darker, stronger voice suddenly filled the air.

"So you have finally taken back the Book of the Dead."   It was a cold voice, a sound laced through with harsh mockery.

The feminine voice paused.  "It has fulfilled its purpose in the world of mortals.  It can do nothing more but harm there."

"And what of the Book of the Living?" the younger voice broke into the conversation, the youthful sounds lilting through the breeze.

"It still has a purpose in the world.  More shall soon be revealed..."  As the Goddess spoke her voice slowly faded away, melting into the shadows.

The dark God's tones rumbled through the air.  "You returned the Book of the Dead to the world when it should have stayed with us.  We have already reclaimed the Scepter and the Bracelet.  The time of the books is rapidly coming to a close."

"You speak truth, brother.  The rest of the ancient regalia must be reclaimed, must return to the place from whence they were forged, many millennia ago..." the ancient voice faded like paper as she drifted off into memory, intoning the end of a story thousands of years in the making.

"But I came not for that.  I know that you favor the Med Jai and the Princess, sister, and I came to explain my actions."

"What have you done?" the younger voice asked melodiously, with the curiosity of a child.

"I have loaned the Priest my army, for a short time, while he has need of it."  The deep voice rumbled, heavy as a raincloud, neither proud nor dismayed, neither happy nor glad.  It was, and it would be.

"You know as well as I that the Priest must fall," the ethereal voice responded.  "He no longer belongs in the world.  Even your army cannot change that fate."

"Perhaps I cannot change his fate.  But how could I abandon my chosen one?  How could I not protect one chosen of my flesh?"

"But you did not choose the priest, my brother," the Goddess pointed out wryly.

The deep voice laughed harshly.  "It is as you say.  I did not choose him.  Mortals chose him for me, and bound him to me."

"_There are some spells so powerful they rebound on their maker..._"    If she had possessed any physical form, one would have seen the twist of irony about her lips.

The dark God continued, the sounds low in the cool air.  "The Priest has a part of me in his soul.  Three millennia ago the Med Jai stole a fragment of my essence–my terrible power–and gave it to the Priest to curse him.  I have waited long.  It is time for me to reclaim what is mine."

"No mortal should know the dark essence of a God.  It has destroyed him," the Goddess observed, the sounds sliding and dancing in the very air.

"So you have sympathy for the Priest, sister?"

"Now and always.  I have sympathies for all mortals who are caught in the webs of history and destiny."  The divine words slid along the wind like silk against skin.

"But soon his torment will be over.  By accepting my army, he has surrendered his soul.  No longer is he half man and half beast.  He has completely absorbed my dark power.  He is now my chosen one..."

The jackal-headed God turned to the younger being beside him.  "I granted him my army, child, and now his soul belongs to me."

The feminine voice spoke once again, relating the priest's story, a history thousands of years in the making.  "Three millennia ago he was transformed–from human to unhuman, from mortal to immortal...he became The Mummy.  Finally, after two failed attempts, he is completing the destiny required of him, the destiny of the unholy flesh eater, the destiny of the walking plague over the bleeding earth...

"He did not make the choice to become The Mummy.  By finally fulfilling that destiny, by completing what is required of him, he can find peace..."

The dark rumble of agreement echoed.  Indeed, if they had possessed any physical form, one would have seen the eyes of the Goddess and the God meet over the head of her daughter...and share a twist of a smile.

The Goddess then turned from her dark kinsman, once again addressing her child.  "But we shall meddle no more.  As always, my daughter, we must remain shrouded in mist, cloaked in gossamer and light..."

***

Five chapters left!  Thank you to everyone reading!

**Ruse****:** Thank you my friend!  Your praise always boosts my confidence ;-) Exactly, it was fun to write Rick fightin' again, instead of bristling with futile anger in the slaves' quarters.  And the book...you seem to understand exactly what I'm thinking ;-) And I know I said this in my review, but I_ loved_ chapter 13 of Softly.

**Mommints****:** Thanks!  And, as I said in my email, inspiration comes in a lot of different ways...just chatting about Ardeth has helped me shape him in my story.  Don't hesitate to send me ideas ;-) Thanks my friend :**-**)****

**Silverfox****: **Hey!  Glad to hear from you.  Thanks for the praise and for dropping me a line :-)****

**Deana:** Thanks for checking the words for me, and thanks for the encouragement!  I was glad to hear from you again ;-)****

**Soph****: **Glad you're back ;-) Thanks muchly!  I'm afraid that Evy, Rick, and Alex won't get to meet up for awhile, though...there's much angst to be had first :-)

**Eviefan****: **Thank you!  Thanks especially for saying that the battle was worth the wait...I know the story has taken quite awhile to reach the action sequences.  And don't worry...I do have Rick/Evy stuff in mind ;-)****

**Jessie McDonald: **Yes, Ma'am!  You asked for Imhotep and Evy in this chapter, and I couldn't help but comply ;-) Thanks for the review, I'm glad you like.

**Anya****:** Don't worry, I won't forget Alex and Evy.  Thanks for the review, our heroes can use all the help they can get, lol ;-)****

**Aulizia****:** Hehe, I'm glad you liked the "I hate mummies" line.  And you're right about there being no middle ground...(ominous music starts playing)  Thanks so much for your review!  And thanks for trying to help me with the spell, as well as for your excellent advice on the last part of this chapter.

**MBooker****:** My dear friend!  Let me apologize for the craziness that last chapter caused!  To clear everything up: Anjelica's and Rick's relationship is, and will remain, purely platonic.  Anjelica was created to give Rick someone to talk to in the slaves' quarters, and my feeling is that they regard each other as the close sibling neither of them ever had.  Indeed, Rick and Evy are soulmates, and I don't intend to mess with true love, even if it is just a fanfic ;-) And the part about being afraid of what happens after...that meant that Anjelica is afraid of what happens if they lose the battle, i.e. what Imhotep will do to all of them to extract his revenge.  That is, she's not afraid of actually fighting, she's afraid of the consequences, for them and the world.  Does that make sense?  Sorry if I was unclear.  Yeah, I wish Stephen Sommers would call me up for Mummy III, lol ;-)  Thanks for the nice comments ;-)


	29. Life and Death

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Life and Death**

***

Ardeth fluttered his eyes closed for the briefest of moments as the army of Anubis continued to form in front of him.  Within moments, he knew, they would be charging towards him.  He took a deep breath, mentally readying himself.  This was the culminating moment of three thousand years of turbulent history.  Everything had led him up to this single moment.

His destiny was here.  Ardeth opened his eyes.  Whatever happened, he had done all that he could.

Rick and Jonathan were already gone, on their mission to get inside the palace.  With Adil on one side of him and Rashid on the other, Ardeth felt the Med Jai spirit flow through him.  He was ready.

Behind and to the right of him stood Anjelica.  With Rick gone, she found herself suddenly quite alone.  Turning from the horrific sight before her, and knowing she only had a few moments, she looked at the young man standing next to her. 

"I'm Anjelica," she said, knowing that in just a few moments they would be fighting for their lives.

"Hubert," he replied.

He turned his face towards her and Anjelica realized with a start how young he was.  She looked over him briefly, assessing him.  "How did you get here?" she asked, clutching tightly to the hilt of her blade.

"I was sent.  By the resistence movement.  With Jonathan Carnahan."  He stuttered briefly, betraying his nervousness.  He looked up at her, suddenly having the urge to confess to her.  "I've never fought in a battle before."

Pity surged through her.  She had experience and skill on her side, he did not.  But what could she say, really, to comfort him?  "I'm here.  We're all here, fighting with you."

He shivered and looked down.

Anjelica thought a moment.  She had never been the motherly, comforting type, so she repeated to him the only phrase that had ever consoled her.  "Do not be afraid of your destiny."

He looked up at her, startled, and for a moment it seemed that the fear left his eyes.

"ATTACK!"

They both froze as the unmistakable sound of a battle cry reverberated in their ears.  It was an inhuman voice, a sound that shivered through Anjelica's entire body.  It was a voice of death.

Anjelica swung her head around, looking straight into the Army of Anubis.  The jackal-headed warriors growled and brandished their swords, tensing for attack.  The very world paused, trembling, on the precipice of the ultimate battle.

She suddenly realized that she was looking at the very face of the underworld.

And then the moment fell.  Perfectly synchronized, the entire jackal army of thousands began running at top speed towards the Med Jai.

Hubert took a deep breath, his sweaty palms clasping desperately to his weapon.  Anjelica ripped her eyes away from the horrifying sight, trying in one last agonizing second to meet Hubert's eyes.  Near her, she heard Ardeth scream "Steady!" but the sound was drowned out in the pounding of thousands of feet against desert sand.

"Do not be afraid!" Anjelica shouted to Hubert as the jackals neared, each cruelly baring its teeth.

In unison, the Med Jai army all drew their weapons.  The sound of thousands of blades whipping through the stormy air made Anjelica feel strong.  The blades gleamed in the flashes of lightening that jerked against the gray sky.

The desert pounded beneath them as the jackals neared, inhuman sounds emanating from their decayed bodies.  The entire live army tensed and readied themselves.  Now they were beyond fear.  The time for judgement had come.

As the army of the jackal-headed God came close enough to kill, Anjelica could see the hollow cruelty glittering in their eyes.

***

The two sides clashed just a quarter of a mile from the palace.  Imhotep stood watching dispassionately from his balcony.  All was going to plan.

Behind him was the great hall, the hall that led to his massive throne room.  He could hear his soldier mummies come running through the empty chamber, their decayed feet pounding on the marble as they rushed to defend their master.

Oh yes, he had thought of everything.

The six mummies, golden blades in oozing hands, surrounded Imhotep.  They stood sternly, silent and still, waiting to protect him from anyone that might come.  Pleased at their timely entrance, Imhotep continued to watch the battle unfold beneath him.  A cruel smile played across his face.

Anubis' army was doing their duty well.  Man after man fell to the earth without so much as a cry.  The jackals cut through the army like farmers at harvest time.

***

Evy flew into the room, her long wavy hair streaming out behind her.  She slid on the marble floor, her body coming to a stop just inside the large chamber.  Her eyes swept the room in the search for the Book of the Living.

Her sweeping gaze stopped, locking suddenly on the desk.  The book still sat on the mahogany wood, gleaming softly in the light.  But her entire body tensed, sensing what she had not yet seen with her eyes.

Her eyes slowly flicked up, and when they came to rest on the figure standing by the desk Evy gasped.

Anck-su-namun stood quietly by the book.  She stood, silent and still, as though she had been waiting for Evy to arrive, as though she had planned out this final confrontation.  Slowly, deliberately, her hand trailed over the book's gold cover.

Evy stood near the doorway, breathing hard, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight in front of her.

The two of them stood there in silence.

Evy slowly realized that Anck-su-namun was clothed in her ceremonial robes–the robes of a queen.  Evy had never seen her bedecked in all of her glory.

The shimmering, priceless material was draped over her shoulders, precious stones woven into the glimmer of the golden fabric.  The gown hung, the diaphanous material swept around her slender form.  She wore a golden torque about her neck, flecked with rubies.

Evy allowed her gaze to flicker upwards, where her eyes caught at the jeweled crown resting on her black hair.  The diamonds and emeralds sparkled in the torchlight.

But as Evy finally rested her eyes on Anck-su-namun's face, she realized just how tormented the queen was.  Her face shone dimly in the flickering light and Evy could see that she had been crying.  Sympathy surged through her.

But the former concubine straightened and tilted her head.  Evy could see that Anck-su-namun did not want her sympathy, nor her pity.  She stood before her as Imhotep's bride, as his love, robed and crowned as queen of the world.  From somewhere came a flicker of a memory, a shadow...and Evy knew that once, long ago, she had stood at Rameses side, robed and jeweled and crowned...

...as Anck-su-namun now was.

Their roles were once again reversed.  They had each been a slave and each a queen, but they had never fought on the same side of a battlefield.  Were they the opposite sides of the same coin?  Did their souls, in some way, mirror each other?  Were their destinies eternally bound and twisted together?

And then the former concubine looked at Evy coldly, and Evy heard the unspoken words slice through the air.  _Now I am queen of this land._  

Evy's breath caught in her throat.

Finally the queen spoke aloud.  Her eyes hardened as they trained on Evy's.  Her hand possessively stroked the gold cover of the Book of the Living.  

"Looking for this?"

Anck-su-namun's question echoed in the chamber.

***

Rick and Jonathan snuck into the palace through a side door.  All of the palace guards had either fled from their posts or had retreated further inside.  Whichever the case, Rick and Jonathan slipped easily inside.  Following the dim hallway, the two men suddenly came to a flight of stairs.

Shrugging, Rick began climbing.  He wondered how Ardeth and Anjelica and the rest of the Med Jai were faring outside.  He looked over his shoulder and could see Jonathan's worried face reflecting his exact thoughts.

"I've missed you," Rick said suddenly, his words echoing in the empty stairwell.  He paused and looked down at his brother-in-law.

"I came halfway around the world to rescue you, you know," Jonathan said, a slight grin slipping onto his face.  "I guess I missed you too."

Rick paused for a moment, looking at Jonathan, and a rush of tenderness surged through him.  "You know, I–" he had never been very good at explaining his feelings.  In fact, he wasn't sure exactly what his feelings were.  He tried again.

"I heard from Adil about you finding the black book and bringing it to the Med Jai.  I always knew that you could do it, but you–" Rick sighed, running his hand through his blond hair.  "What I'm trying to say is that I'll never be able to repay you for what you've done for me, for Evy, for everyone."

Jonathan just smiled.  He finally had the complete respect of his best friend.  That was enough.  "Rick, old boy," he replied, shaking his head slightly, "we're even."

***

Imhotep turned away from the railing of his golden balcony, ceasing to watch the scene below him.  He had no need to worry about the battle outside.  He had the army of a God.  There was no way Anubis would allow his warriors to suffer defeat.

Imhotep strode from the balcony through the main hallway, his six soldier mummies close behind.  He was heading for his throne room.  Past the throne room were his chambers, and in his chambers was the gold book.

***

The battle on the desert sands was going on in full force.  A few of the dead had managed to make it past the slashing army of Anubis.  They were now making their way slowly towards the palace.  It wasn't much, but it gave Ardeth comfort.  A small trickle of water was running over the top of the dam. 

Ardeth looked to his side just in time as a jackal neared him, growling, its black teeth glinting hideously.  Ardeth quickly ducked its blow then sliced upwards, through the warrior's neck, and the jackal disintegrated into air.  He wiped his forehead, sweat pouring off of his body.

From his vantage point it was very difficult to tell whether they were winning or losing.  The battle appeared to be even.  But even as he tried to tell how the Med Jai were faring Ardeth knew that it was a meaningless gauge.  It was impossible to tell who was winning because the real battle was taking place inside the palace.  Whoever found and kept possession of the gold book would win the day.

But, as they had all hoped, the jackals were preoccupied with the army of dead.  The dead marched stiffly, weapon-less and sightless, and the army of Anubis was taking great pleasure in cutting them down.  The dead were mowed down easily.  But their numbers were so large they just kept coming and coming.

Ardeth took a deep breath as men and beasts fought all around him, allowing himself a small smile of satisfaction.  As a distraction, the army of dead were serving their purpose quite well.  They made it much easier for the Med Jai to kill the Anubis warriors.  And, most importantly, it freed Ardeth.  He no longer had to stay with his people and fight on the desert sands.  Distracted, the Anubis warriors wouldn't even notice when he left.

The time had come.

Ardeth looked up, his eyes taking in the distant palace.  As if on cue he felt Adil come and stand by his side.  Without looking at his friend, Ardeth jerked his head towards the immense golden structure, dimmed in the gray light.  "That is where we are needed now."

He met the younger man's eyes.  A shared nod of purpose, and the two were off, running towards the palace.

***

Pierre watched with satisfaction as the Anubis warrior in front of him burst into sand.  It was extremely satisfying to watch them die, he reflected, except for the annoying mini sand storms they created.  He blinked as another gust of sand flew into his eyes and cursed loudly, several times.

He looked around, noticing that the Med Jai warriors didn't seem to be too bothered by it.  Pierre sighed, wishing that he could use the gun in his holster, even though he knew the bullets would go right through the sandy beasts.

Turning to his side, he caught sight of Ardeth, standing still with Adil.  In unison the two began running towards the palace.  Pierre grinned.  Now they were getting down to business.  Without a second thought Pierre began running after them.

***

Jonathan and Rick snuck through a side corridor, attempting to be as silent as their surroundings.  Ahead Rick could see the main hall, the grand throne room.  But the place was utterly empty.

They moved stealthily through the side corridor, coming up on a side door to the grand hall.  But where was everyone?  Rick could hear his own heart beating, could hear every ragged breath he drew in this tomb-like place.

He threw a glance at Jonathan over his shoulder, and the two men shared a shrug.  Neither of them had ever been in this huge palace before.  They were going on instinct alone.

Suddenly, Rick heard a voice, echoing in the large halls.  He crouched quickly, concealing his body behind the doorway.  He knew without a doubt who had made that sound.  Imhotep.

Coming towards him.

"Jonathan!" Rick whispered urgently, taking a quick look around to get his bearings.  "Get Evy and keep her safe.  Take the key and find the gold book!"

Jonathan crouched behind Rick, sweating profusely.  "What are you going to do?" he asked.

Rick took a deep breath.  He knew what his role in all of this was.  "Distract Imhotep."

Jonathan nodded.  He placed a reassuring hand on his brother's shoulder.  "Good luck old chum."  He rose from his crouch and started moving quickly back down the corridor, towards where he assumed the sleeping quarters were.  As he left to find Evy, he heard the unmistakable sounds of mummies, swords clanging at their sides, striding through the main hall.

Jonathan quickened his pace.

***

Rick waited for just the right moment.

Springing from the doorway, he jumped right in front of Imhotep.  The Pharaoh drew back, a glint of surprise flashing through his dark eyes.  Rick sneered at his mummy guards as they drew their weapons and snarled.

Rick looked right into Imhotep's inhuman eyes, issuing the challenge.  "We have some unfinished business."

Imhotep regarded Rick coldly, his surprise gone as quickly as it had come.  His voice dripped with disdain.  "I see you have escaped, Med Jai dog.  Have you come to collect your wife?"

Relief surged through Rick's exhausted body.  So Evy was alive!  That knowledge gave him more strength than he ever thought he had.

"Among other things."  Rick's eyes locked with Imhotep's.

"Stand down," Imhotep commanded calmly, and the six mummified guards slowly lowered their swords, gnashing their teeth impotently.  "This is between Menmet and I."

Imhotep strode forward, leaving his protectors behind him.  The two men stood in the middle of the huge throne room.  They silently regarded each other.  Three millennia, a thousand emotions, blood oaths, and betrayals stood between them.

Rick suddenly felt that there was no one else in the room except for the two of them.  The pair of steely blue eyes met the cold brown ones.  They bored into each other in the deathly silence.  Finally, Rick spoke, drawing his sword.  "No special powers, Imhotep.  Fight me like a man, like the man you were."

Imhotep considered.  "We've fought like that before."

"Yeah," Rick replied, "but we were interrupted by your old friend the Scorpion King."

A sinister grin spread across Imhotep's face.  "You were losing that fight, if I recall correctly."

"Maybe."  Rick smiled.  "But we won the war."

Imhotep's expression darkened, remembering how he had lost possession of the army of the Scorpion King.  Hatred and vengeance surged through his three thousand year old body.

Rick smiled, seeing Imhotep's frustration.  "Feel like a rematch?"  Rick twirled the sword in his hand, then pointed it down, waiting for Imhotep's decision.

"Done," he answered finally.  His former defeat momentarily forgotten, the corners of Imhotep's mouth turned up with dark pleasure.  "Sword," he commanded, and one of his mummies stepped forward, handing him a golden sword.

Looking down, in the glint of his blade, Rick could see his own reflection.  He tightened his grip.  This was to be the hardest fight of his life.

***

Away from Imhotep and Rick, Jonathan finally allowed himself to shout Evy's name aloud.  He ran down the silent corridors, his footsteps echoing on the marble.  "Evy!"  He called her name again, his breath coming in ragged gasps in the empty hallways.  "Evy!"  

Where would she be? Jonathan considered frantically as he skidded to a halt, looking into a large ball room.  Like Imhotep was having a lot of balls, Jonathan thought sarcastically.

If he was Evy where would he be?  Well, to be honest, he'd probably be hiding.  Well, to be honest, he would say he was going to hide while actually running around attempting to help while falling down a lot and being largely ineffectual.

Jonathan stopped, aggravated at his lack of faith in himself.  _This is what you always do when you're nervous,_ he scolded himself, darting into another massive chamber.

No Evy.  Where was that girl?  Knowing his sister, he figured that the very first thing she would do would be find the gold book, and he had assumed that Imhotep would hide the gold book somewhere in his chambers.

But where the hell were his chambers?  This palace was huge.  There weren't exactly sign posts.  Jonathan took a deep breath and kept running.  "Evy!"

***

Evy took a deep breath.  She still stood just inside the doorway, her eyes locked with Anck-su-namun's.  The room was deathly silent.

"Anck-su-namun."

The queen stared coolly back.  "Nefertiri."

Evy looked into her face closely, and could see tension in the smooth lines of her jaw.  This was a front, an elaborate act.  Anck-su-namun was cracking, and she didn't want Evy to know.

Evy took a step forward, not breaking eye contact for a second.  Her voice was low, and her words were nothing short of a command.  "Give me the book."

A flicker of surprise crossed the queen's face, surprise at Evy's boldness.  In response she carefully lifted the book up, hugging it to her chest.  Her tense fingers wrapped around the gleaming cover.  "No."

Evy took a deep breath, then slowly took another step forward.  Her tone was soft and non-threatening, but her words carried icy steel.  "Stop defending him."  Her eyes flickered to the gold book in the queen's arms.  "Give it to me."

Anck-su-namun looked back at her, and Evy could see her calm exterior melting away.  Her desperation and fear and love for Imhotep shone from her features, and Evy almost had to look away from the pain in her eyes. 

"I can't," Anck-su-namun whispered.

"Anck-su-namun, give me the book."  Evy spoke calmly but forcefully, taking another small step towards her.

"I will not!" Anck-su-namun cried, her words echoing in the empty chamber.  Her eyes were wet but she gripped the book tightly to her chest.

Evy stopped, unsure of what to do.  She had to take the book away and defeat Imhotep, but she understood Anck-su-namun's pain, perhaps too well.  In the silence of the chamber Evy's mind roved over her long and complex relationship with the former concubine.  She wished that things could have been different, that they had been friends, that the pain and sorrow had never happened.  But it had.

There was no denying the past.  And here was the chance for Evy to be reunited with her family, to kill Imhotep and end his tyranny.  There was no going back now.  Imhotep had to fall.  And she would do everything in her power to make it happen.

But her heart broke for Anck-su-namun, who loved Imhotep and would never betray him.  Evy felt nothing for the queen but pity.

And she still to complete her destiny.

"Anck-su-namun, _give me the book_."

"No," Anck-su-namun whispered, taking a small step backwards.

Evy took a deep breath, not knowing how she could explain what she had to do.  "Imhotep's time has come.  It is over.  _Give me the book._"

And Anck-su-namun made her decision.  Her pain and turmoil were evident.  But her words, too, carried icy steel.  She, like Evy, would not back down.  "No, Nefertiri.  _I will not betray him_."

The two women looked at each other across the marble chamber.  And perhaps, finally, for the first time in three millennia, they truly understood each other.

The queen placed the book down gently on the table.  Leaving it, she walked over to one of the golden statues.  From the statue's arms she pulled out two golden sais, the sharp weapons slicing through the air.  Anck-su-namun tossed the two gleaming, familiar weapons to Evy.

Evy caught them easily, twirling them in her hands.  Had they ever been apart?

Anck-su-namun slowly removed her crown and laid it on the gleaming wood desk.  Untying the string of her ceremonial robes, she allowed them to fall at her feet.  She was wearing a simple shift underneath...comfortable clothing.  Clothing to wear in a fight.  Evy's mouth dropped open soundlessly as she realized just how fully the former concubine had planned this final confrontation.

To complete her transformation, Anck-su-namun pulled out her own golden weapons, holding them comfortably in her bronzed hands.  "Just as in the old days, Nefertiri?"

"Anck-su-namun," Evy began slowly, choosing her words carefully.  "Imhotep is not the man you loved in Ancient times.  He is the creature now.  You have no obligation to evil you did not create."

"Do not say that!" Anck-su-namun lunged at Evy, aiming her blade at Evy's throat.  Quickly parrying the blow Evy took a step back, tensed and ready.  The two squared off, circling each other uneasily.

So the queen and the slave, and the slave and the queen, began their final battle.

***

Ardeth and Adil quickly slipped in through the same entrance Rick and Jonathan had used.  They moved quietly and stealthily along the corridor, going on nothing but instinct.  Just as they reached the empty stairs, they heard a voice.  The two men tensed, listening.  A familiar voice.  Turning, Ardeth saw Pierre, breathing heavily, turn the corner of the hallway.

"There you two are!" Pierre said, grinning, slowing as he approached the two Med Jai.  "I thought you could use a little help."

Ardeth rolled his eyes, relaxing slightly, not unhappy to see the muscular Frenchman.  "Come on.  We have no time to lose."  Following in silence, Pierre and Adil quickly fell into step behind Ardeth as the chieftain led the way up the stairs.

As they reached the second floor they immediately heard more voices.  Ardeth tensed at the top, listening, making Adil and Pierre wait behind him as he assessed the nature of the sounds.  "Imhotep.  And O'Connell."  Ardeth hesitated, listening carefully.  "Fighting."

The three men shared a quick glance as Adil shrugged.  "Let's move."

They snuck down the side corridor, the sounds of slashing swords and angry voices amplifying in the huge throne room as they moved closer.  Stopping by the doorway just off the throne room, they peered out from the shadows, watching as Rick and Imhotep battled.  They also noticed the six soldier mummies standing, their hands on their swords, also watching Imhotep's fight.

Imhotep swiped and Rick stumbled back, just dodging a potentially fatal blow.  Pierre bristled and started to move from their hiding place.  "I'll help him fight that monster–"

But Ardeth quickly grabbed his arm, stopping him.  "No.  That is not your battle.  It is only O'Connell's to fight." 

Pierre looked at him as though he were mad.  "But we can help him–"

"No, my friend," Ardeth insisted, resting his hand on Pierre's shoulder.  "That is not your place, nor your role in this fight."  Ardeth paused, quickly considering their options.  "Get Jonathan and help him and Evy find and protect the gold book."

"And leave you two here alone?  You must be joking."  Pierre licked his lips, his face streaked with sand and grime.

Ardeth smiled grimly.  "You must.  Imhotep will die only if we read from the gold book."

"But–"

"No.  Our lives do not matter.  Only the book matters."  Ardeth looked into Pierre's eyes, and slowly the Frenchman closed his mouth.  Something in Ardeth's words seemed to have struck him because Pierre slowly nodded.  With one last look at Ardeth and Adil, Pierre turned and stole back down the hallway, searching for Jonathan.

Adil and Ardeth looked at each other.  Nodding in unison, the two warriors sprung out from behind the wall.  Sensing new blood, the six soldier mummies turned towards the Med Jai, immediately tensing their rotted bodies and growing furiously.

Imhotep used the distraction to take a swipe at Rick, which he narrowly dodged.  On the defensive, Rick backtracked, twirling the blade in his hand.

His eyes locked on the face of his enemy, Imhotep gave his command.  "Kill the Med Jai.  Menmet is still mine."

***

Growling with pleasure, the soldier mummies drew their swords and advanced on Ardeth and Adil.  The two Med Jai stood, their backs together, as the mummies formed a circle around them.  There was no way either of them was getting away alive unless they killed all six of the undead creatures.

"Do not be afraid, my brother," Ardeth insisted as the creatures neared, taking their sweet time.

"No need to worry," Adil replied, his young face hardened and ready for battle.  "I've been waiting for this pleasure for some time."

Ardeth smiled inwardly.  With a Med Jai battle cry, both men simultaneously attacked.  Within moments the prone body of a soldier mummy lay on the marble floor.  But five still came for them, growling and attacking and baying for human blood.

***

Imhotep completely ignored the other fight, focusing his inhuman eyes solely on his nemesis.  "I'm not through with you," he rumbled menacingly, stepping towards Rick and slicing his blade through the air.

"Did I say you could leave?" Rick growled back.

Ready, Rick deflected Imhotep's first thrust, quickly counterattacking and driving Imhotep back across the marble hall.  Their blades danced in the air, slicing and clanging as the two expert swordsmen battled.  The fight was dead even.  

Anger made Rick strong.  He knew his job was to distract and contain Imhotep so Jonathan and Evy could find the gold book and make him mortal.  So he played with Imhotep, attacking and then retreating, never exposing too much of himself.

But he knew he couldn't last like this forever.

***

Below, in the desert sands, the battle continued.

The Med Jai were clashing furiously with the Anubis warriors.  One side was fighting coldly and mechanically.  But the attacking side was fighting frantically and desperately for survival.  The jackal's continued to cut down the army of the dead easily.  But still they came, walking stiffly towards the palace, a river of the walking dead.

They so greatly outnumbered the army of Anubis, that despite their complete lack of ability to defend themselves, many still managed to get past the jackals and make their way towards the palace.

Anjelica had killed more jackals than she could count.  Every time she felled an Anubis warrior another flew into her face, snarling for her blood.  She thrust forcefully towards her current opponent only to be blocked by the jackal's curved blade.  She tried again, slicing her scimitar toward's the creature's neck.  But the animal was quicker than it looked, dodging her thrust with grace and swiping its own weapon dangerously close to her chest.

Taking a quick step back, Anjelica let the jackal over commit.  Growling, the beast aimed for her head.  Ducking and spinning to the side, she sunk her blade deep into the creature's neck.  With a final agonized wail, the jackal burst apart into dust.

Breathing heavily, Anjelica looked up at the palace.  She wiped dust out of her eyes as she quickly considered her options.  Should she go and help Rick?  She knew that it wasn't her fight, and yet she so badly wanted to be of some use.  She was torn and stood tensed with indecision.

She knew that the real battle was taking place up there, where no one could see who was truly winning.  It mattered not who won the battle on the sands.  If Imhotep could be made mortal, it would all be over.

A cry of pain from behind her interrupted her thoughts.  Something in the voice sounded vaguely familiar, and she turned, seeking out the cause of the anguished sound.

When she saw who had cried out her heart thumped painfully.  The owner of the voice was the young man–Hubert–the young man she had attempted to comfort.  She looked, seeing only his face, twisted with agony.

And then she looked lower.  Her eyes caught the gleaming sword protruding cruelly from his chest.

He had been run through from behind.  Anjelica blinked, felt the world slow around her.  For a full second, an entire agonizing moment, Anjelica felt all the pain and fury and desperation of the world course through her.  He was so young, he did not deserve to die–

He fell.  He fell to his knees, then slumped onto the ground, falling heavily on his side.  His hands feebly attempted to wrap around the sharp blade jutting out of his body.  Moaning, he groped at his chest, bright blood surging up from the wound.  Blood rapidly seeped through his clothes, dripping off onto the desert sand.

Anjelica looked away, searching frantically for the jackal who had done this, but he had already disappeared.  Her urge was to avenge his death, to fight and kill.  But she looked down and she realized that Hubert did not need an avenger.  He needed someone to hold him as he died.

She had never been much good at that sort of thing.  She moved to his fallen form and knelt by his head.  He looked up into her eyes, desperate, sad, utterly alone, and Anjelica felt a strange sensation come over her._  This young man could have been her brother, could have been her own son...they were both alone in this world, they were foreigners, they were fighting an ancient battle that was not their own..._

Anjelica pulled his head into her lap, cradling him.  She wiped his hair out of his eyes.  _Some destiny had led both of them to this battlefield, to this forsaken corner of the world..._

He gasped, blood filling his lungs, looking up into her face.  His time was short.  Anjelica knew it, and she would not lie to him.  She looked back.

And he knew it too.  Their brown eyes met in a moment of painful recognition. 

Unable to speak or move, he just looked at her, his eyes probing her own.  She looked back, not knowing what to say, not knowing how to comfort him.  He looked desperately into Anjelica's eyes, begging for an answer, an explanation, a reason for all of this madness.

He looked into Anjelica's eyes as men look to their mothers for comfort, as men look to the great Goddess before the end.

But she had no answer for him.

She wiped his forehead and held him close.  But from somewhere, words came to her.  She did not know if the words were her own or if they were the words of the Gods.  And she knew not then whether they were even the truth.  But she whispered the words, in comfort, in tenderness...in love.

"You fought for freedom, for the future of humanity to live on this earth.  And for that cause, you have given your greatest gift._  We will prevail_."

She smiled gently, blinking away the dampness in her eyes, and kissed his forehead.  Her lips gently touched his brow in blessing.  "Now go to your God in peace, and be safe."  And at her words he took a last shuddering, painful breath.  And then the life left his eyes.

From somewhere, a thought permeated her being.  _"Blood is the ultimate sacrifice, and sometimes only it will slake our need..."_

She gently closed his eyelids, whispering the words she had long forgotten, the last rites intoned by the Bishop at her mother's death, the few, spiritual words that would speed a soul home.

She rose, laying Hubert's head on the sand as the battle raged around her.  Later, reflecting on those few moments, she would wonder how she had been able to lay Hubert to rest, how sitting there on the ground with no weapon she had survived.  She would never know why she was spared.

She looked up toward the glittering palace, dirt streaked across her face.  She had faced death.  Now it was time to ensure life.  She took off at a running speed toward the palace.

***

Heeeeey.  Thanks all!  You've all been so kind, I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint ;-)

**Ruse:** Yes, apocalyptic was definitely the adjective I was going for, lol.  I'm thinking about majoring in angst ;-) Anyway, thank you for the review...I always wonder what you'll say because you're setting the bar so high in Softly.****

**Jessie McDonald: **Thank you!  Your review gave me a huge smile!  "The Mummy III" by Marxbros...lolol...it has an excellent ring to it, but I think that might just be us two ;-) Thanks, though, for the vote of confidence ;-)****

**Elfpixie****: **Thanks!  You're right, Immy and Anck have had a lot of bad luck, lol ;-)****

**Mommints****:** Thanks.  I've come to view making people feel bad for an all-powerful Imhotep as a new art form.  I'm glad you like it!  And I'm happy I inspire you.  As I said to Ruse once, that's what the mummy board is all about, right?****

**jonnycarnahan****: **Thanks!  Don't worry, reviews are good anytime :-) I won't say what will happen to Jonathan, although I suspect he will be banged around a little bit.  Thanks for reading.****

**Bunni****:** Always glad to see a new face!  Glad you like the story.

**Aulizia****: **Ahh!  The longest best review ever! I'm glad you liked the Immy/Anckparts, you're right, what strikes me as the saddest part is that they've never known true happiness...they've been striving for it in different ways but have never succeeded.  And I'm glad you liked the reunion, I was afraid it was too short, but we were in the middle of a battle!  Thanks as always for the awesome reviews ;-)

**Soph****:** Your review made me add the bit in this chapter where Rick notices the change in Jonathan and admits his respect for him...so thanks for the astute comment ;-)****

**Fan of the Mummy: **Hey, much thanks!  Glad to see you're still here and following the story.****

**MBooker****: **Hehe, a little rampage? lol.  It did make me more aware of how I was portraying Rick and Anjelica, though, cuz I don't want to give the wrong impression.  Thanks tons for the nice comments!  And of course I totally agree...who couldn't love Jonathan???

**Brittany: **I can't reveal what's to come...I'll just say I'm a romantic at heart ;-) Thanks for the review!

**Raptor: **Becoming popular? LOL, I've been working on this story for over a year! ;-) Glad you like it, I'm always glad to see a new reader of one of my stories.

**Sabie****: **Thanks.  I'm happy you like the story.  That's a good point about Alex.  He never interested me as much as the other characters, but I'll play around with enhancing his role a little ;-)****

**Mija****: **Hey, glad you're back and catchin' up with the story.  Thanks for the reviews.

**Anya****:** Thanks again!  I'm pleased you like Hereafter, of course, and thank you for trying to express your thoughts.  I'm always glad to hear from anyone ;-) About Anubis...you're right, but for the purposes of the film as well as my story, he has to be the evil side of Imhotep.  Another thought: as I've tried to show, nothing in life is 100% bad or good...even the Gods.  There is lightness and darkness in everything, and perhaps Anubis' desire to make Imhotep fall is not only an evil intention...there can be good even in bad.  I'm getting cryptic, I know, sorry ;-) I think chapter 33 will explain a lot of that...hopefully, lol ;-) And Anjelica/Ardeth...hmmm...you've given me something to think about :o  Anyway, much thanks and I hope you like the rest of the story.


	30. Two Sides of the Same Coin

**Chapter Thirty: Two Sides of the Same Coin**

***

The palace was eerily deserted, and Pierre's pulse quickened as he sprinted down the empty marbled hallways.  There was something sinister about this place...almost as though it were a house of the dead, a very portal to the underworld.

Turning a corner he spotted Jonathan come running out from two huge golden doors.

"Jon!"

Jonathan turned quickly as Pierre jogged up to him, catching his breath.  "I am here to help you find your sister and the book."

Jonathan shook his head, breathing heavily, his sweaty hand wrapped tightly around the key.  "I don't need your help.  Not in this.  Ardeth needs you."

"It was he who told me to help you!" Pierre wiped sweat from his forehead.

Jonathan shook his head, standing once again and getting ready to continue his search.  There was no time to lose.  "No.  Go and help Ardeth.  He will need help fighting the mummies.  I'll find Evy."

"Are you sure?"  Pierre wanted to be back in the fray, killing mummies and battling the undead.  But he owed his loyalty to Jonathan, and he would help him if he needed it.

Jonathan took a deep breath.  He knew that he had to do this on his own.  There are some things a man must do alone.  "I will do it."

Pierre gave him a short nod of respect.  Then he turned and once again began running, back to help fight the mummy guards with Ardeth and Adil.

As he ran, he felt nervous tension tingling up and down his arms and through his stomach.  Time was running out.  Rick couldn't distract Imhotep forever.  Pierre ran, his chest heaving for air, knowing that they were all fighting, all struggling against an unknown and unforseen clock.

***

Evy ducked as Anck-su-namun's thrust sliced the empty air where, only a second ago, her head had been.  They had been battling for several minutes, trading thrusts and blows with equal ferocity.  They were indeed perfectly matched in skill, and they fought, back and forth across Imhotep's chambers.

Evy's mind flitted over the last two fights she had had with Anck-su-namun.  One, three millennia ago, in the court of her father.  The second, just two years ago, inside the pyramid of Ahm Shere.  Evy gritted her teeth.  Between them, the score was tied.

Evy drew strength from the fact that Anck-su-namun had never beaten her when it really mattered.

Breathing heavily Evy regrouped, backing away and twirling the weapons in her hands.  She eyed Anck-su-namun, the queen's face maddeningly expressionless.

Suddenly, in a burst of energy and anger, Evy attacked.  Her first thrust, directed towards the queen's throat, was deflected, but Evy kept coming, pushing Anck-su-namun back across the floor.  They traded blow for blow, the blades clanging as they met again and again.  Sweat poured off of their faces and bodies as they battled.

In the background, on the mahogany desk, the gold book of the living lay, motionless and mute.  It gleamed in the light, silent as it, too, watched the fight.

Suddenly the queen swiped at Evy's face.  Startled, Evy jerked back, only just parrying the blow.  Off balance, she stumbled back, away from Anck-su-namun's razor sharp weapons.

With another quick jab Evy just deflected, Anck-su-namun swung both her blades towards Evy with all her might.  Off-balance, there was nothing for Evy to do as the queen's blades slammed into her own, ripping one of her weapons out of her clammy hand.  It clanged on the marble floor as it fell.

***

Imhotep's sword clanged into Rick's.  The two blades sliced along each other.

Neither of them had the advantage yet.  The fight had been dead even.  But Rick knew that he was tiring.  Imhotep with his immortal strength had barely broken a sweat.  Rick had been able to keep up–for now.  But he knew he couldn't last forever.

Rick pulled back and thrust again toward's Imhotep's stomach.  The blow was deflected, returned, and their blades once again danced through the air.  Imhotep advanced slowly, pushing Rick back across the floor to the opposite end of the throne room.

Rick gritted his teeth, parrying another thrust.  Imhotep's blows were coming hard and fast, and Rick felt his sweaty hands slipping on the hilt of his sword.

As Imhotep's sword banged fiercely into his own, Rick suddenly lost his grip.  He panicked, his clammy fingers grasping at the hilt as the blade began to slide out of his hand.  Seeing Rick's panic Imhotep swung his sword, connecting brutally.

The loose sword in Rick's hands reverberated, shaking in his slippery grasp.  With another deft blow Rick felt his sword being ripped out of his hands.  Imhotep grinned, looking at his disarmed opponent.  The golden sword flew across the room and fell, clattering across the marble floor.

***

Gasping, Evy backed away, looking around frantically for another weapon to use.  She was practically defenseless with only was sai against Anck-su-namun's two.  Dropping her second weapon Evy turned, her eyes searching frantically for a spear, a dagger–anything she remembered how to use.

Her eyes alit on the beautiful golden sword mounted above the mantel.  Imhotep's sword.  How bloody ironic.

Dodging Anck-su-namun's hateful thrust, Evy ran for the blade on the wall.  Seeing Evy's intention Anck-su-namun growled with anger.  As Evy neared the mantel, she stood, reaching, her fingers nearly grasping the gleaming sword.

But something whizzed by her head.  Evy looked up in panic as the sai lodged itself in the wall beside her head.  It had just missed her.  Another quarter of an inch and it would be imbedded in her head.  

Evy reached once again for the curved sword.

With a battle cry Anck-su-namun threw her second weapon, the golden blade twirling through the air, end over end, as it sailed towards its mark.  Her hand grasping the hilt, Evy ripped the blade off the wall.  In one beautiful, fluid movement, Evy swung the sword forward to defend her head.

Anck-su-namun's golden sai struck Imhotep's sword with a resounding crash.  The weapon trembled in Evy's hand and she struggled to maintain control of it as the queen's deadly sai clattered harmlessly on the floor.

Shivering, Evy met her eyes.  She tightened her grip on the blade.  This battle was not over.

***

Rick had never been much of a sword man, anyway.

He countered quickly, before Imhotep could react, by kicking the priest squarely in the stomach.  Grunting Imhotep stumbled backwards, the sword in his hand hanging loosely from surprise at the attack.

Following on his success Rick advanced, slugging Imhotep in the face, his knuckles making hard contact with the priest's jaw.  The sword slipped from Imhotep's grasp and clattered on the hard floor.

Imhotep snarled and backtracked, holding one of his hands to his jaw.  He wasn't ready for Rick's attack, a style of fighting Rick had perfected long ago in the streets of Cairo.  Pressing his advantage, Rick popped Imhotep again in the jaw, knocking his face back.

Rick circled him like a boxer, growling, his bloody fists tight and ready.  Imhotep eyed him warily.  Then, slowly, the priest too lowered into the stance of a boxer.  Raising his fists to protect his face, on the balls of his feet, Imhotep advanced towards Rick.

The fight had changed.  But it wasn't over.  Not by a long shot.

***

Ardeth allowed himself a grim smile of satisfaction as his sword sliced through one of the soldier mummy's arms.  With a sickening thwak, the blade met the creature's decayed bone.  It sliced cleanly through the rotting flesh and cartilage, separating the arm from the remainder of its decomposed body.

The beast snarled hideously at the loss of its limb, watching as it's severed arm hit and bounced on the marbled floor.  With a growl in defense of its injured brother, another soldier mummy jumped at Ardeth, just missing his shoulder and forcing Ardeth to backtrack a few steps across the massive throne room.

Ardeth looked over at Adil, blinking rapidly and trying to get the sweat out of his eyes.  Although they had been able to keep the mummies at bay, they were by no means winning this fight.  The mummies were cornering them and wearing them down.  Ardeth and Adil had each killed one, and Ardeth had just seriously injured another.  But with two beasts to fight each, there was no chance to rest or regroup.

They were going to need some help.  Soon.

***

Anck-su-namun made for the opposite wall, where Imhotep's collection of swords were stacked.  Quickly selecting one she ripped it from its scabbard.  Turning, brandishing her new weapon, the queen strode forward.  The sword gleamed in the dull light.  Evy stood across the room, Imhotep's sword in her hand.  The two women silently regarded each other.

Finally, calm, composed, utterly poised, Anck-su-namun began walking towards Evy.  She twirled the sword in her hand as though it was a part of her body.  She looked completely at ease.  Evy swallowed, hard.  She hadn't used a sword in years.

With a cry Anck-su-namun attacked, her sword hitting Evy's with barely contained ferocity.  The blades swung through the air, clanging violently together as the two women battled.  Anck-su-namun was on the offensive, pushing Evy back across the chamber.  Evy struggled, doing her best to defend herself while the queen attacked.

But Anck-su-namun was clearly the better fighter.  She kept pushing Evy back, mechanically attacking as Evy struggled to parry each thrust.  Evy gasped, Imhotep's sword heavy in her inexperienced arms.  The muscles in her arms ached as she desperately fended off Anck-su-namun's blows.

Evy swung her blade upwards to deflect another violent thrust.  The strength of the blow forced Evy to stumble back.  Evy suddenly felt her back bang up against the wall.  She hit the cold marble and felt her heart plummet.  How had she let herself be cornered in this way?

She looked up into Anck-su-namun's cold eyes.  And suddenly, for the first time, Evy was drenched in a sudden gut wrenching fear.

She had never truly believed that they could lose this battle.  But here she was, trapped by Anck-su-namun, with the gold book of the living just out of arms reach.  Evy looked into the queen's face, trying to glean some humanity from the cold, chillingly beautiful exterior.

"You seem to have run out of options," she articulated slowly, drawing out her victory.

The death of the world flashed before Evy's eyes.

Evy looked around in a panic as Anck-su-namun came for her, quick and silent as a panther.  The next thing she felt was the cold steel of a blade pressed against her throat.

***

Narrowing his eyes into slits, Imhotep counter-attacked.  His fist made slight contact with the side of Rick's cheek as the American managed to mostly dodge the blow.

The two men continued to circle each other.  Rick popped Imhotep in the face, one, two times, his fist making satisfying contact with the priest's jaw.  Rick swung to hit him again, but Imhotep was quicker.  The priest slammed his fist into the undefended side of Rick's face.

Rick stumbled back, his hands instinctively going for his throbbing jaw.  Imhotep growled and grabbed Rick, sending a hard knee into his stomach.  Rick doubled over, gasping for breath.

Imhotep shoved him to the floor.  Rick lay on his side, gasping.  But he wasn't going to give up this easily.  Slowly Rick pulled himself back up.  He stood, blood running from the corner of his mouth.

Imhotep smiled.

Rick ducked from the first blow, quick on his feet as Imhotep kept coming.  But the priest swung again, knocking into Rick's face.  Rick stumbled back only to be kicked in the chest.  He slammed up against a column, bleeding and exhausted, as Imhotep came for him.

Rick closed his eyes and groaned as the priest's cruel face neared his own.  He had only managed to distract Imhotep for so long.

Imhotep grasped Rick by the shoulders, picked him up, and threw him across the throne room.  Rick sailed through the air.  He landed with a thud, moaning at the pain that shot cruelly up his leg.  He winced, not wanting to see how bad the damage was.

He was exhausted.  He had almost no energy left, not even enough to protest as Imhotep strode over to where he was lying.  He closed his eyes briefly in pain as Imhotep's harsh question echoed in his mind.

"Are you ready to die, Med Jai?"

***

Where was Evy?  Jonathan thought anxiously, running down the hallways.  This palace was endless.  Where was she?  And where was Anck-su-namun?  Suddenly Jonathan remembered their fight in the pyramid at Ahm Shere.  "Oh my God," he whispered, all of the pieces suddenly fitting together.  Everyone was accounted for except Evy and Anck-su-namun.  They must be together.  

Fighting.  Over the book of Amun-Ra.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jonathan saw something move.  He spun around, grabbing the handgun from his holster.  Grasping the gun in his tense fingers, he looked carefully at the huge golden doorway.

The ornate door stood half open.  Bright light from the hallway spilled into the front of the darkened room, but what was beyond was concealed in shadows.  Jonathan squinted into the dim interior of the room beyond.  He could vaguely make out some stacked and discarded furniture.  The room appeared to be abandoned and deserted.

Jonathan frowned, lowering his gun.  He could have sword he saw someone, or something.  Had he imagined it?

And then suddenly he saw a small form ducking down behind a chair.  "Oh no you don't," Jonathan muttered, striding into the room.  It must be one of Imhotep's servants, hiding.  Well, if Jonathan had been an uninvolved slave here he would be hiding too.

His eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room as Jonathan searched out what he assumed was a young woman.  The room was stacked and filled with discarded chairs and tables and Jonathan made his way around them, looking for any sign of movement.  The little bugger was hiding.  Jonathan grunted in frustration.  He had no time for this.  He needed to know where Imhotep's chambers were, now.

Jonathan overturned a chair, starting to lose his patience.  Damnnit.  He was losing valuable time.  "I need your help!" he yelled into the dim, empty interior.  "Where are Imhotep's rooms?"  He stopped, his voice echoing.

Jonathan listened in the quiet room.  Slowly he heard the sound of someone standing up, and of a table scratching against the marble floor.

"Uncle Jon?"

***

Grasping his injured leg, Rick managed to pull himself into a sitting position.  He gasped from the pain, sweat pouring down his forehead and into his eyes.  Wiping his face with the fabric of his sleeve, Rick looked up into Imhotep's eyes.  Rick's searing blue ones reflected a laughing bitterness.

"So you would kill me?" he asked ironically, repeating the same question Imhotep had asked him, long ago, in the pyramid of Ahm Shere.  He felt his entire body trembling with exhaustion.

Imhotep stood above his nemesis, watching him dispassionately.  "So you beg for your life, slave?"

Rick grunted, rubbing his leg, desperately trying to buy some time.  He quickly looked over at where Ardeth and Adil were fighting, but he couldn't tell who was winning or losing.  His eyes were blurred by his own sweat and salty tears of frustration.

"I will never beg," Rick growled, hauling himself to his feet.  His entire body screamed out in pain, but he forced himself to remain standing.  He had never remembered being this drained after a fight.  He was getting older, he realized with a start.  He had been in this game for too long.

"So you are proud, too," Imhotep remarked casually, watching Rick struggle to his feet.  The priest had barely broken a sweat.

"Proud of my heritage, as you are," Rick replied, righting himself.  And for a moment, Rick thought he saw a glimmer of the old Imhotep, the man he had known and respected and had thoroughly pitied.  A flicker of–what was it?–something Rick could not name traversed his eyes, something that made Imhotep look ragged, and tired, and frustrated, and utterly human.

But then it was gone.  The moment passed as quickly as it had come, and Rick wondered if it had ever been there at all, or if it was a figment of his exhausted mind.

The two men considered each other, who were as far apart now as they had once been close.  Imhotep's cold eyes assessed Rick once again.  His eyes gleamed with malice as he stepped forward.  "It is time for you to know pain as I have known it, Med Jai."

Rick's blue eyes locked with Imhotep's.  He searched for any sign of humanity.  But all that looked back at him were eyes that were cold, cruel, and empty.  Rick swallowed hard.  He tried to move, staggering back on aching legs as Imhotep strode forward, and came for him.

***

Anck-su-namun held Evy down, the weapon at her throat.  Evy could feel the cold chill of the blade against her skin as the queen smiled at her victory.  "I win, Nefertiri, just as I won before your father's court three millennia ago."

Evy gritted her teeth.  This could not be the end.  It couldn't be.  All she had fought through, all she had survived, to die like this?  "So you can kill me just like you killed my father?" Evy glared at her.  "How long have you dreamt of this moment?"

Her words were like a slap in the face.  The cold, steel mask of the queen's face broke.  Pain flashed across her features.  "Is that what you think?" she managed to get out, relaxing the blade's pressure on Evy's throat.

Evy swallowed defiantly.  "I think you are finally able to complete what you started three thousand years ago."

 "No," she whispered, her face softening in pain as she backed away from Evy, lowering her sword.

Evy looked at her in shock.  After such a fierce battle she couldn't believe that Anck-su-namun was suddenly letting her go.

"I never wanted to, to kill you," Anck-su-namun whispered.  "I would never have hurt you three thousand years ago."  She looked down at the sword in her hand.  After a long moment she spoke again.  "And I can't kill you now."

"I don't understand."  Evy's hands went to her throat warily, rubbing the tender skin.  She slumped against the wall, collecting herself.  And Anck-su-namun stood before her, reaching out to the last person on the entire earth who might understand her.

"We didn't kill your father for hate, Nefertiri."  Anck-su-namun swallowed, struggling to maintain control.  "I hated him but I would have lived with it, accepted it.  I could have borne it when I didn't know any better, when I thought that all life offered was suffering and regret."

"Then why?" Evy voiced her question softly, without anger.  She stood, taking her weight off the wall.  Indeed, the past seemed very long ago.

"We killed Seti for love, not for hate."

Evy blinked.  "Imhotep said that to me once, many years ago."

Anck-su-namun nodded, blinking back tears as the past rushed upon her, hot and fast and searingly recent.  "Imhotep and I, we couldn't live without each other.  The only way to be free was through murder.  I," she stopped, taking a deep breath.  Her sword slipped from her grasp to clang loudly on the marble floor.  It lay there, unmoving.  "I would never have hurt you, or Menmet."

Evy swallowed.  "I believe you."

Anck-su-namun struggled for words.  "It would be easy to say I regretted it.  We've caused so much pain."  She met Evy's eyes.  "But life with Seti was death.  It was killing me.  Imhotep offered me love, happiness–he offered me a chance at a real life."

Evy's mouth dropped open soundlessly as Anck-su-namun's words registered with her own life with sudden, brutal clarity.  She too remembered what it was to live a life of death.  She had, with Rameses, as queen of Egypt.  She had reigned and birthed sons and lived even though she had been dead inside.  She had given up Menmet, her chance at a real life, for duty.  How many years had she wasted as one of the living dead? 

Anck-su-namun brushed away a tear before continuing, struggling with her own churning emotions.  She stood limply, as a woman who had lived too long and seen too much, who after many lifetimes had finally come to truly know herself.  The queen raised her head and her piercing black eyes met Evy's in searing honesty.  And Evy knew that in those eyes there were no apologies.  "I know that I will make the same choice, in lifetime after lifetime.  I choose life, every time."

Evy stood, breathing heavily.  Perhaps, three millennia ago, she had not been brave enough to choose life.  She blinked back tears.   She would never know.  There were no answers.  "I understand."

And Evy turned away.  She walked over to the desk where the book still lay.  But perhaps now it's gleam was duller, the gold less brilliant.  Was it possible the book's glory was fading?  But as Evy picked it up, feeling its cold surface, she knew it had not changed.

She turned back to Anck-su-namun, who was standing still, watching her silently.  Evy looked into the face of the woman who had been so many things to her: this woman had been her teacher, her step-mother, perhaps at one time even her friend.  She had betrayed her and murdered Nefertiri's father, imprisoned her and her son.

Ah, she had admired and hated this woman, she had despised and pitied her.  That there was something she could say...

...and Evy found the words.  They welled up from deep inside her.  "Life here is death for me.  My family was imprisoned.  People I loved were killed."  Evy took a deep breath, fighting to keep the tears from her eyes.  "It is my turn.  And I, too, choose life."

Anck-su-namun looked back, her face full of sadness and hopelessness...and understanding.  Her arms fell slackly to her sides.  "Sometimes, when I look at you...I see myself."

Evy's heart twisted.  Somehow, her life and Anck-su-namun's life had become all entangled, had curled and twined together.  Evy's eyes fluttered closed and then open again.  Whether they had been slave or queen, in both lives, they had both been trapped.  It was time for freedom.

"Imhotep is not the man you loved three millennia ago.  The man you loved has been gone for a long time.  The Imhotep now...he is cursed.  He is a plague upon the earth."  Evy looked into Anck-su-namun's eyes.  "You owe him nothing."

Anck-su-namun stood, wracked with uncertainty.  She loved Imhotep...but in her heart she knew that Evy was speaking the truth.  Her voice left her mouth, strained and hoarse, her throat muscles clenched and tight from holding back the fiercest weeping.  "I can't betray him, Nefertiri."

"This is not a betrayal.  We must end the cycle.  Only by ending the cycle will we find peace."  Evy hardly knew where her words were coming from, but as they left her mouth she suddenly knew that they were true.  "You will find him again.  But not in this lifetime."

And with her final words, and a last glance back at the woman she had known for three millennia, Evy stepped out of Imhotep's chambers for the final time, and walked towards her destiny.

***

A/N: The chapters were getting too long (and I felt like building up the suspense a bit more...mwahahaha) so I added another chapter.  There will be four more chapters, not three, so the story should clock in at 34 chaps.  Plus an epilogue.  Maybe.  We'll see ;-)

Oh and yes, The Hours inspired me to write Anck-su-namun's little speech at the end.  The more I thought about it, the more Anck-su-namun's predicament seemed similar to Laura Brown's.  I mean, very generally.  Kind of.  Don't think about it too much ;-)

To my reviewers:

**Aulizia****: **Haha, it would be hard to top that last review!  Yes, it was time for someone to die...and there will be several more deaths before the story's over, just to warn you.  You deserve a special shout-out for this chapter.  Thanks tons for your excellent and helpful comments by email!  You rock ;-)****

**Ruse****: **Thank you my friend!  So glad you like the original characters...I'm always nervous that die-hard fans will hate the newbies. Lol, I know exactly what you mean, I'm having such fun writing this I'll be sad when its over!  But I also really want to finish. *sigh* I'm glad you like the themes playing out from TMR.****

**Bunni****: **Glad you liked the part with Hubert and Anjelica and that you're liking the story so much :-)  Thanks for your nice comments.****

**Deana: **But you forget, my dear, I'm the queen of angst!  I couldn't let you see how the fight turned out, could I?!? LOL.  I'm glad I'm creating some suspense ;-) Thanks for the review!****

**Fan of the Mummy:** Thanks! I like the Imhotep/Ricky confrontation myself.  Don't worry, you won't be in suspense much longer...other than that, my lips are sealed...;-)****

**Mommints****:** Thank you my friend.  Your kind words always boost my spirits!  Yes, poor Hubert.  He'll get a high school named after him, though, lol.  And I finally responded to your email!****

**Jessie C:** Thank you! I'm glad you like the story. I'm always happy to see a new face ;-)****

**MBooker****: **Whew! Your encouragement always makes me feel better.  I'm glad I had you laughing about Jonathan.  It's the middle of the climactic, final battle...but when has that ever stopped Jonathan from being the comic relief?  Yes, poor Anck...and I will say that there will be a small family reunion in the next chapter...****

**Eviefan****:** I'm so glad you like the action, I think that's my weak spot in terms of writing.  Yes, Alex will make his return (he'll have a bigger role in the next chapter).  Thanks for your review ;-)****

**Mija****: **Thank you.  I'm glad you started reading again too ;-)  Hope you like the rest of the chaps.****

**Towmondler****: **Wow, thanks! It always makes me happy to see a new reader of my stories.  Glad you like it ;-) As I've said before, I can't give away the ending...but I shall repeat my mantra and say I am a romantic at heart.****

**Buffelyn****: **Well, I'm glad that you...plan to come back ;-) I think you read through chapter 12, but I would have to check on that.  Hope you enjoy and catch up on the story when you can.****

**Lula: **No matter! Glad to have you reading and reviewing.  Thanks for the extensive comments!  It made me happy to see your reactions.  Yes, ignorance can be a horrible torture...it always seemed to me to be one of the worst mental tortures one could inflict.  Anyway, take your time, reviews are good anytime ;-)****

**Anya****: **I'm glad you liked the battle scenes.  Thanks for the review.  You're right, wearing a crown has nothing to do with it...but I think that both Evy and Anck_are_ queens: they're both loyal, brave, proud, beautiful, capable of great love and compassion...that's what makes them so interesting for me to write.****

**Pixie:** Thanks for the review.  As I've said, I love to see someone new reading my stuff ;-)****

**Sabie****:** Thanks!  That was something I've been working hard on, not losing track of any of the characters.  Yes, about Alex...he'll be making a few small appearances, including an important one in the next chap.  Glad you like the story, thanks for the support.

**Jessie McDonald:** Thank you my friend.  I'm glad you liked the little Rick/Jonny scene.  You're right, tragedy has a way of bringing people together, and after all Rick's been through I think he would see Jonathan in a new light.  And I felt it was time my Jonny got a little recognition ;-)


	31. It All Ends Here

**Chapter Thirty-One: It All Ends Here**

***

Evy never remembered running so hard in all her life.  And the trip from Imhotep's chambers to his throne room had never seemed so impossibly, achingly, unbelievably long.

Her feet pounded on the marble of the ornate hallways as she ran, clutching the book awkwardly in her arms.  She rounded a corner and slipped, bumping into the wall.  The book jiggled in her arms and Evy looked down at it.  Was it her imagination or was the book gleaming...glowing in the light?

She looked down as she ran, examining it more closely, and a shiver of dread ran through her spine.  The gold cover was not reflecting the torchlight any more.

The book was glowing from within.  Evy slowed for the briefest of moments, looking down in wonder at it.  It glowed softly, seductively...and Evy suddenly understood that the book was ready to be used.

The black book of the Dead had started the cycle.

It was time for the book of Amun-Ra to complete it.

Evy gasped as she suddenly realized just how elaborately their destiny had been planned.  Every person, every object had a role to fulfill.  Evy took a deep breath and began running again, the sounds of her heavy breathing echoing in the empty hallways.

The book glowed in Evy's arms, ready to fulfill its destiny.

***

Ardeth dodged a swipe at his head, the attacking soldier mummy gnashing its teeth nastily as it missed injuring the Med Jai Chieftain.  Quickly side-stepping another lancing blow, Ardeth ducked behind a marble column, gasping for breath.  He had not fought like this in over two years, and his strength was fading.  His chest burned from lack of air and sweat poured down his face.  His damp hair stuck to his clammy skin.

Ardeth wiped the back of his hand over his face, removing some of the sweat from his eyes.  He looked for O'Connell, so see how he was faring against Imhotep.  As his eyes found Rick across the massive room, Ardeth's heart plummeted.

Rick lay on the marble floor, practically motionless.  Imhotep was standing over him.  Ardeth squinted frantically, looking for any sign of a wound.  No, Rick looked to be basically unhurt.

A savage growl interrupted Ardeth's thoughts as a soldier mummy appeared before him, its black teeth glinting hideously in anticipation of killing a Med Jai.  Ardeth had no more time to think.  He drew his blade, reacting and beating back the creature with nothing but pure instinct.

He stole one last glance over at Adil, who looked to be almost done.  The young man was gasping and backing up, just barely defending himself from the savage blows the other two soldier mummies dealt him.

Ardeth looked up as the one-armed mummy who he had injured earlier returned for more.  He managed to parry the blows, the muscles in his arms aching from the effort.  He truly did not know how much longer he could last.  He and Adil each had two beasts to fight, and the creatures just weren't dying fast enough.

Suddenly the head of the mummy nearest him exploded in a shower of black goo.  The beast's headless body stumbled, groaned, and collapsed.  "Take that, you sons of bitches!" the man yelled, his battle cry echoing in the great throne room.

In shocked relief Ardeth turned to see who had come to his aid.

Pierre grinned at the Med Jai chieftain, brandishing the blade in his hands.

"Thank you, my friend," Ardeth said, a slight smile playing across his exhausted face.  One of the mummies fighting Adil turned in anger towards Pierre, screeching in futile fury at the death of its decayed friend.

"Come and get me," Pierre called out, taunting the mummy.   He held his blade in ready stance.  "See what happens."  The creature responded in kind, swinging its blade through the air as it made its way over to battle the Frenchman.

Adil sighed in relief and met Ardeth's eyes.  Now each man had only one beast to fight.  The tide of battle had turned.

They continued fighting methodically, but Ardeth knew that time was running out.  _Where were Evy and Jonathan?_ Ardeth wondered frantically.  Although they were now on the way to beating the mummies, that was not the real battle.  Imhotep had to be made mortal.  

And, with a quick glance over his shoulder, it looked like O'Connell was not going to last much longer.

***

Imhotep picked Rick up by the collar, holding him several feet above the floor.  The priest stared impassively into his face.

Rick gasped, clawing at Imhotep's superhuman hands now wrapped tightly about his neck.  This couldn't be the end.  It just couldn't.  He had to see Evy one last time...he had to save her...

"I'm sorry it had to come to this, Med Jai."  Imhotep's harsh voice broke into Rick's mind.  Imhotep shook his head, making a tsk tsk sound.  "But you just had to challenge me, didn't you?"

He searched Rick's face for an answer, but Rick was desperately trying to stay alive, choking and holding his neck.

"You know, Menmet, that I never wanted us to be enemies.  You chose to hate me and stalk me through lifetime after lifetime."  Imhotep held him effortlessly, Rick's legs dangling helplessly in the air.

Rick grimaced, gasping, getting a little bit of air into his burning lungs.  "You betrayed..." Rick's chest heaved.  "Everyone."

Imhotep's face darkened.  "The Med Jai will write their own history, it seems.  I care no longer.  It is time for you to die."

Rick's eyes widened as Imhotep opened his mouth, preparing to swallow Rick and suck in his flesh.

***

"Alex?"

The words flew out of Jonathan's mouth before he could think.  He frantically scanned the gloomy room.  "Alex?"

Suddenly a head popped up from behind a table.  A blond head.  Two blue eyes stared back at him, fearful and hopeful and determined.  Jonathan felt his heart skip a beat.

He had his father's eyes.

The eyes were achingly familiar...and yet, some part of them were the eyes of a stranger.  His nephew was no longer an eight year old boy.  He was nearly an adolescent.  He had sprouted a good three inches in the last two years. 

"Alex," Jonathan got out, his eyes taking in the sight of this child.  He had known him well, once.  They had been friends, buddies, they had hung out and gone to the park and seen movies together.  How much had he changed?  How had Alex grown up, trapped as he was in Imhotep's palace?  A thousand questions and emotions ran through Jonathan's mind as the pale blue eyes stared back at him.

But all he said was one single, simple phrase.  Unplanned, the words spilled out of his mouth, low, barely audible.  "You look so much like your father."

Without another word Alex flew across the room and into Jonathan's arms.  Jonathan found himself on his knees, his arms wrapped around the body of a growing boy.  He felt bigger, stronger, older, and Jonathan marveled at how Alex's body fit against his own differently now.

But then Alex looked up, his shining face bursting with happiness, his blond hair flopped across his brow, and Jonathan knew that Alex had not changed.  He might be older and bigger and more mature, but he was the same person, the same sweet, smart, mischievous child he had known.

"I've missed you, Uncle Jon," he said, looking up at Jonathan.

"I say, I've missed you my boy!" Jonathan exclaimed, grasping Alex's narrow shoulders to get a better look at him.

"Do I really look like dad?"

The plaintative question hit Jonathan between the eyes.  He had been thinking this entire time of his own feelings towards Alex.  He had forgotten how much Alex had missed his father, how much Rick must have ached for his son.  Jonathan swallowed.  "Of course," he whispered.

Alex beamed, and Jonathan thought his heart might break.  Life had been unfair to them.  Sure, they had been lucky in many ways.  But life had been cruel, too.  They had had more than their fair share of misery.  Jonathan patted Alex's blond hair, remembering a time, in England, long ago–Alex had been five, or maybe six–when all four of them had sat in the manor, at Christmas, watching the snow falling outside...

"Is dad here with you?" Alex's hopeful voice broke into Jonathan's thoughts.

Jonathan grinned.  "He sure is.  He came with Ardeth and the Med Jai to rescue you."

"Just like at Ahm Shere?"

Jonathan forced away the lump in his throat.  "Just like at Ahm Shere."

Alex smiled and nodded, standing and pulling Jonathan to his feet.  "So what are we waiting for?  Let's go help dad!"

"Whoa there," Jonathan said as Alex pulled him towards the door.  "We have a different assignment, old boy.  Your dad wants us to go find your mum and get the gold book."

Alex looked seriously at his uncle.  "Imhotep keeps the book in his chambers."

Jonathan met his eyes.  "Is that where your mum went?"

Alex let out a deep breath.  "I dunno...she didn't say.  But knowing her..."

Jonathan nodded.  "Do you remember, Alex, how your mum fought Anck-su-namun in the pyramid?"

Alex nodded, and Jonathan continued.  "I think that might happen again, right now.  Over the Book of Amun-Ra."

Alex's eyes widened.  He didn't need to be told twice what that meant.  "Let's go!"

Without another word they burst into the hallway and began running down the corridor.  Jonathan followed as Alex led them to the largest golden doors at the end of the hall.  He could feel the key as he ran, heavy in his pocket.

***

Anjelica had made her way into the palace and up the marble stairs.  The battle on the sands between the Med Jai and the army of Anubis was raging on.  But Anjelica somehow knew in her gut that her place was here, in the palace.  What her role was she still had no idea.  She prayed that she would be of some use in defeating Imhotep.

She crouched in the stairwell doorway, listening carefully.  She heard echoes of swords and angry voices, but she couldn't make them out.

Her fingers brushed over the blood drying on her shirt, crusting in the cool air.  Hubert's blood.  She looked down at her hand and saw blood drying on her skin as well.  She did not know what she was going to do, or how she would help.  But she had to make up for Hubert's death.  Somehow she had to atone for everything by being here, by facing Imhotep herself.

Her ears pricked as she suddenly recognized Rick's voice.  A shiver went down her spine when she realized the other voice must be Imhotep's.  It was cold and cruel.  Soulless.  A voice of death.

Straining her ears over the sounds of pounding feet, clashing swords, and inhuman growls she made out the distinctive, french-accent laden voice of Pierre, and what she thought might be Ardeth's voice.  Other than that, she had no idea.

She inched forward, creeping carefully along the darkened corridor.  As she walked the sounds, echoing in the huge marble throne room, grew louder.  She slowly approached the door on the side of the grand hall and stopped, folding her body into the shadows.  She looked, quickly taking in the scene before her.

Out of pure instinct she reached down and touched the hilt of her scimitar, which hung at her side.  She didn't know what her role was.  But when it was her turn to act, she would.

If death was her fate she would accept it.  But she would go down fighting.

Anjelica waited for a sign from destiny.

***

Jonathan and Alex burst into Imhotep's huge bedroom, the golden doors banging and echoing as they searched for Evy.  Nothing.  The chamber was empty.

Jonathan felt himself panicking.  There was no sign of Evy, Anck-su-namun, or the Gold Book.  "What do we do, what do we do, what do we do," Jonathan muttered frantically as he strode around the room, looking for any sign of life.  They couldn't lose now, not when they were so close!

"She'll just go find dad, uncle Jon," Alex said, tugging at Jonathan's shirt.  "Let's go!"

Thank goodness for clear headed thinking, Jonathan reflected as they darted out of the room.  He hesitated, looking back down the hallway he had come.  They had no choice.  Rick and Ardeth were in the throne room with Imhotep.  The conclusion to this battle would be there, and in his gut Jonathan knew that's where Evy would be, too.

They doubled back and kept going.

***

Evy turned the final corner to the throne room and came running in at full speed.  Banging open one of the golden doors she came skidding to a halt.  All the way down the throne room, at the other end, was Imhotep.  With a choking Rick in his grasp.

Her heart leapt through her throat at seeing him again, the person she loved most in the world.

"Rick!" she screamed, almost dropping the Book of the Living.  The gold metal stuck to her clammy skin, unwilling to leave the arms of the Princess to whom it was bound...

_Evy__!_  Rick's mind screamed out in response, although he could not utter a sound.  God, she looked beautiful, powerful...regal.  His heart twisted and flopped inside his chest.  He had missed her more than he had ever thought possible.

Imhotep's concentration broken, his mouth closed.  Turning and seeing the gold book, his hands loosened from their grip Rick's neck.  "The Book of Amun-Ra," he murmured to himself.

Rick plummeted to the ground.  His beat up body slammed heavily into the marble.  "Ooof," he groaned, curling into a fetal position, his hands on his burning throat.  His eyes watered and his head throbbed.

Imhotep took a few steps towards Evy, who was still all of the way across the room.  "Princess," he called out.  "You can do nothing with that book without the key."

_Where was Jonathan?_ Rick thought, groaning on the floor and rubbing his sore neck.

***

Evy hesitated, taking a small step forward, her arms wrapped around the Book of the Living.  She searched her mind frantically for ideas, but her plan had progressed no further than obtaining the book.  She had no way of opening it.  What was she going to do?

And then...she could not explain it.  It was almost as though time itself slowed...she could hear herself breathe in the massive throne room, the sound of her breath echoing in the air... 

She closed her eyes and when she opened them again her vision had blurred.  The room seemed to shimmer around her...it was as though her entire body was ringed in a fierce light.  She could not see, she squinted but she could not see...And then it seemed that Imhotep stood before her, as they had stood together three millennia ago in the throne room of her father, when they had been not enemies but friends...

She blinked and the rest of the room disappeared, the very walls fading away and the world glimmering around them...there were stars before her eyes...Why, how was it that there was sand beneath her feet?  Were they standing in the desert?  But she could swear that she also stood on the most beautiful marble floor, cold against her skin.  She looked up and hardly knew if she looked at a vaulted ceiling of gold or at walls made of sunlight and shadow...

And then Evy would have sworn that they stood in the palace of the old days, in her father's throne room, and Imhotep stood, bronzed, tall, blessing her...or was his hand made of doom and fire?  Why, she could hardly tell if it was the old, holy Imhotep or the dark, cursed Imhotep, she hardly knew whether he was clad in the robes of a priest or the robes of a Pharaoh...Why, she hardly knew who he was, she could not see his features, his face was cast in shadows, all in shadows...

Evy felt the very fabric of time shiver and tremble around her.  And then she understood, that if she wished, time would twist, and turn on itself, and she and Imhotep could emerge from her father's throne room that day as though the past three thousand years had never been. 

She knew that their destiny, past and future, was in his hands.  If Imhotep could feel pain, if he could touch the human side of himself one last time...if he could admit, after all of these years, that he felt regret and remorse for killing her father..._Then Imhotep would not kill Seti, and he and Anck-su-namun would run from the palace...Nefertiri would have Menmet for many years longer while her father lived...and the Med Jai would not curse Imhotep's soul, creating the monster who would kill and ruin so many lives..._

It seemed the entire world waited for what Imhotep would do.  "Imhotep," she whispered, "do you remember?"

She hardly knew if his face was shining or dark, if he laughed or wept, his features were hidden in shadow, all in shadow...

"_And know that, for the rest of my rebirths into this world, I will carry with me regret, a deep remorse that no time can erase."  _Imhotep's own words, spoken three millennia past, echoed in the great hall.

But from far away it seemed as though she heard his voice, speaking to her...she heard his call...

"I am the Creature.  That is my destiny, to be a plague over this bleeding earth." 

The world glimmered before her.  She looked for him, but she could not see him..."No, Imhotep, you swore to me that your remorse was to be your legacy..." Evy heard her voice–or was it Nefertiri's lilting dialect?–softly whisper to him...and suddenly, as she spoke, she wondered what language they were speaking.

The magical shimmering world around them twisted and shivered, and Evy knew not what she saw...the world seemed poised, waiting for what Imhotep would say.  Evy hardly knew whether it was Imhotep any longer, or was it his soul, glittering and silvery blue before her, shimmering before her eyes...was that why she could not see his face?

"I regret nothing.  I am in the clutches of Anubis now.  My dark soul belongs to the master of the underworld..."

And his response was the judgment of the Gods.  They could not go back to the beginning.  The very fabric of time rippled and quivered and the weight of years fell. 

Evy blinked and the magical world was gone.  She was back in Imhotep's throne room, an exact replica of the one standing three millennia ago.  Imhotep no longer stood near her, his body glimmering with light.  The air no longer shimmered around them, shadows no longer concealed their faces, and Evy wondered when she had ever thought that it could be a thing of power.

Imhotep still stood, across the throne room, staring at her, and Evy knew that he had seen the same dream-like vision she had.  For those few seconds they measured each other, their eyes locked, and Evy knew that three thousand years had led them up to this point.

There was no going back.

It would all end here.

***

Whoo-hoo!  Only three chaps left!  There's gonna be a major smack down coming...hehe...stay tuned!

A/N: The scene in Seti's throne room three millennia ago between Nefertiri and Imhotep that Evy remembers at the end of this chapter takes place in chapter 25, if anyone wants to go back and check it out ;-)

A/N part deux: The idea of time twisting and turning on itself I owe entirely to Marion Zimmer Bradley, who uses the concept in her beautiful novel The Mists of Avalon, although in a different context.  The line "the weight of years fell" was taken directly from the novel.

**Aulizia****:** Your email was the best!  Thank you, my dear friend, for more help on this chapter!  You always make me more confident about the parts I'm not sure about...and it means a lot because I have so much respect for you as a writer.  You rock!

**Deana:** LOL, we do have a lot of queens here!  Good thing I love angst ;-) Thanks for the review.  I had more of Ardeth's fight in this chapter...does that help?****

**TowMondler****:** Wow, you would go back and review every chapter?  LOL, just knowing you would is enough of a compliment!  I'd love hearing your thoughts, but you certainly don't need to ;-) Thanks for the review!****

**Ruse****: **Yes, I know exactly what you mean, about how sad it is, what all their lives became.  I was hoping to capture that bittersweet quality, the way that life has its good and bad parts and all people can do is live with their choices, with what their lives have become.  And thank you for your reviews on my Ends of the Earth series!  I thought everyone had forgotten about those, lol.****

**Soph****:** Hey, glad to hear from you.  Yay, you liked the portrayal of Anck!  Hope you like the reunion.  Thanks for the review ;-)****

**MBooker****:** Ha! I knew you'd be waiting most eagerly for the little family reunion.  I'm dishing the reunions out nice and slow...only one every few chapters.  Hehe, a little evil of me?  Glad you liked Anck-su-namun's torn loyalties.  Thanks!****

**Jessie C:** Thanks for the review.  I was hoping people would feel sorry for Anck-su-namun ;-)

**Lula:** My friend, I don't know if you're reading my little responses to your reviews since you're still on chapter 5, but I appreciate you going back and reviewing every chapter!  I'm always happy when I see a review from you.  And after reading Endless Love...insurmountable odds, indeed! LOL.****

**Mommints****:** Aww, my friend!  You could give the worst writer in the world a boost of self-confidence!  I hope you feel better soon, and of course don't worry about the emails...as long as you keep updating Heroes you'll keep me satisfied.  Thanks!

**Anya****:** Thanks for the review!  Glad you liked Anck-su-namun's little speech ;-)****

**Mija****:** Thanks, I'm glad you liked the action.  About Anck-su-namun, she's definitely made her decision about Immy.  You'll find out what it is in the next chapter... (shameless cliffhanger!)

**Sabie****: **Thanks for both reviews!  I was especially happy to hear your comment on the character threads, I've worked hard on not losing one of their stories.  And I hope you enjoyed the Alex bit in this chapter ;-)


	32. Ancksunamun

**Chapter Thirty-Two: Anck-su-namun**

***

Evy stood across the massive throne room from Imhotep.  Silence echoed in the chamber.  Evy took a deep breath, her eyes locked on the priest's.  The two stared at each other, three millennia of tangled history spread out between them.

Rick still lay on the ground behind Imhotep, holding his throbbing neck.  Evy tightened her grip on the gold book, completely unsure of what to do.  Panicked thoughts raced through her mind.

In the corner, behind the pillars, Evy could make out the forms of Ardeth and another Med Jai fighting two soldier mummies.  But she could not look to them for help.  This was her own battle, and she must face it alone.

Imhotep broke the tense silence.  "Give me the book, Nefertiri," he commanded, taking a few steps towards her.  In fear Evy backed away, looking towards Rick.

"Rick!  Where is the key?" Evy screamed, her question echoing in the marble hall.

"Jonathan," Rick gasped out, making painful eye contact with his wife in a desperate attempt to help her, his bruised body still curled up on the floor.  "Jonathan has it."

_Where the hell is Jonathan?_ Evy thought frantically, taking another step back. 

Suddenly, the main door of the throne room banged open.  All the eyes in the room turned in unison, looking in shock towards the door.  With a groan and a shuffle, the army of the dead advanced.

***

Evy watched over her shoulder in surprise as the dead began stumbling into the room.  There weren't many, just five or ten, but they marched awkwardly forward.  Groaning and shuffling their feet, their papery skin and dry flesh crunched horribly.  Evy winced, repulsed by them even as she knew that they had been raised to help her.

For those few seconds the entire throne room watched silently as the dead moved into the room.  And as the seconds passed the numbers began to increase.  They moved forward, rigidly and sightlessly, and a shiver of foreboding ran down Evy's spine.

Imhotep watched in shock as the dead began entering from the entrance across the hall.  How had the dead got past the army of Anubis, the army of jackals?  Was it possible that they were losing the battle outside?  _Impossible,_ he told himself.  The Gods were on his side.  He could not lose.

But Imhotep knew that the dead would head for him, trying to bring him down.  Although he could easily toss them away, they would be a nuisance.  A distracting nuisance.

Enough was enough.  Imhotep knew he had to get the golden book back into his possession.  He returned his steely gaze to Nefertiri.  She would be first.  He turned to begin striding towards Evy, ready to stop her at any cost.

But, at that moment, Anck-su-namun made her final appearance.

***

Ardeth sunk his blade into the soldier mummy, watching with immense satisfaction as the carcass fell heavily to the marble floor.  Quickly wiping the sweat from his brow, Ardeth looked over at Pierre and Adil, who were both battling the last mummy.  The undead creature was putting up quite a fight, but Ardeth knew that soon it too would be slain.

Ardeth moved away from the corner of the room where he had been fighting, eager to see how Rick was faring against Imhotep.  Coming out from behind a marble column, Ardeth froze.

The army of the dead had begun to enter the throne room.  He had been so intent on fighting he had not realized that the battle had taken another turn.  His eyes quickly scanned the room.  Rick lay, bruised and immobilized on the ground.  Ardeth sucked in his breath quickly and hoped that his friend was alright.  His gaze shifted to Imhotep, who was standing still, staring across the room.  What was he looking at?

Ardeth swung his gaze around and his eyes finally came to rest on Evy.  Evy, holding the Book of Amun-Ra.  Triumph surged through the body of the Med Jai chieftain.  Evy was coming to end this, once and for all.  Victory seemed so close and so certain Ardeth could practically taste it.

But where was Jonathan?  All they needed now was the key.  Ardeth grasped the hilt of his scimitar and began moving out of the shadows, toward Rick, who lay near the huge golden throne on the marble floor.  But why wasn't Imhotep moving?  What was he staring at?

Ardeth looked again, and his eyes came to rest on the figure of Anck-su-namun.  The queen stood, her body trembling with uncertainty, just inside the doorway at the far end of the hall.  Only fifteen feet from where Evy stood, Anck-su-namun waited, her hands clenching the beautiful ceremonial robes she wore.  Evy and Ardeth, across the room from each other, both stopped, staring at the queen in surprise.  But she only had eyes for Imhotep.

She did not speak.  Finally Imhotep's voice echoed, and Ardeth was surprised by the confusion in the priest's tone.  "Anck-su-namun, what are you doing?"

***

Rick finally managed to pull himself into a sitting position.  His leg screamed in agony but he forced himself to sit.  He would be of no use to anyone laying prone on the ground.  He stifled a moan.  As his eyes scanned upwards, his gaze fell on Evy.

She still took his breath away.

His chest tightened.  Now that he had her again, now that he saw her, safe and beautiful, he knew that he could never bear to lose her again.  He had lost her once.  Losing her a second time would finish him.

His eyes swept across her face, her proud, beautiful eyes.  He was one of the strongest men he had ever known, and yet as he looked at Evy, across the room, he knew that he was only strong so long as he knew that she was safe.  His love for her gave him strength.  If he lost her he would be nothing.

His leg was stiffening and Rick leaned over it, bending and stretching it by clutching his knee to his chest.  Pain shot up his limb and he groaned.  He did not want to know how badly he was hurt.  In any event, it did not matter.  If there was a job for him he would do it.  He had pushed himself beyond the limits of pain before.

Wiping his hair out of his eyes Rick's gaze swept back across the room, and abruptly fell on Anck-su-namun. 

He had not prepared himself for seeing her at all.  But now, watching her standing there, the golden fabric draped around her slender form, the look of sadness in her eyes...the memory came upon him, hot and vivid.  He remembered a day, a day many millennia ago when he had gone to meet secretly with Nefertiri in the gardens...a day he had come upon Anck-su-namun,who had known his secret: his love of the princess he could never have.  Anck-su-namun and Menmet had not been friends...but they had formed a strange alliance, a sorrowful kinship of understanding.

He could hear her lilting voice, her words of warning, as though they had been spoken yesterday, not in the faraway land of a previous life. _ A time may come when I am your enemy, as much as you are now my friend.  A time may come when you will be forced to kill me, as much as you are now supposed to protect my life._  She had warned him, but he had not wanted to hear.  And then she asked him for a promise, he who took such oaths as seriously as the bonds of blood._  In return for my secrecy, you will make me a promise...when that day comes that I speak of, you will treat me and my beloved with mercy.  That is all I ask._

And his own tempered response: _Mercy comes in many forms._

She had known the truth of his response, she who was wise beyond her years.  Rick shook his head gently as the memory faded.  She had asked him for mercy but it was no longer in his power to grand such a reprieve.  When he had made that promise she had been but a concubine.  Now she was murderer, queen, a woman who ruled the world on the arm of a madman.

But still something twisted inside of Rick, a lingering sorrow for her, and he was surprised at the tenderness he felt towards Anck-su-namun.  Those feelings were completely foreign to Rick.  Only Menmet had felt them, and the feelings surged forward, shadows of a former lifetime.

Rick looked at her, immediately recognizing the sorrow in her eyes.  But he looked deeper and also saw determination there.  With a start, he knew what she was going to do.  Something in him _knew_ her, knew her as though she were an extension of his own self.

Struggling with his thoughts, Rick felt the form of his best friend kneel by his side.  He felt Ardeth's arm go behind his head as the Med Jai helped him forward.  Rick groaned in pain.  But his mind was not on his injuries.

Perhaps mercy was not protecting her or saving her life, as Menmet had thought.  Perhaps she had not been asking for that at all, those many years ago.  Perhaps she had been asking for freedom.  Perhaps mercy was giving her a choice, allowing her to choose her own fate.

Rick slumped against Ardeth.  He could do nothing for her.  And yet inexplicably, deep down, he knew that his promise was being fulfilled.

***

Imhotep paused in confusion.  His eyes flitted back between Anck-su-namun, the love of his life, and Nefertiri, who stood calmly holding the golden book–the one book in the world that could kill him.  What was Anck-su-namun doing?  What should he do?  He hesitated, unsure, as Anck-su-namun stood silently.  Her eyes bored into his own and for a moment Imhotep lost himself in her gaze.  She was not afraid, or angry...with a shock Imhotep realized that she was sad.  Why?  What was she doing?

He tore his eyes away from her own to sweep across the marching dead.  He noticed, worried, that they were nearing the two women as they continued to march across the main hall.  In a minute they would be upon them.  Imhotep hesitated, not knowing what to do, his gaze flitting back and forth between his queen and his slave.

Silence echoed, the only sounds those of the dead, as they groaned and shuffled their feet, moaning and stumbling forward.  And getting closer and closer to Evy.

Who was only fifteen feet from the queen.

"Anck-su-namun, get away from there," he called out, his usually confidant voice slightly shaky.  His eyes begged her to move, to respond to him, but she just looked back, her eyes full of sorrow.  What was she doing?

***

"How do you feel?" Ardeth asked Rick urgently, stealing a glance up at Imhotep.  Ardeth couldn't believe that Anck-su-namun was accomplishing what their raised army of dead could not.  She was distracting him far more than the dead soldiers.

"I've been better," Rick muttered as Ardeth wiped away the blood from his face using the sleeve of his dark robe.

"Can you stand?"

Rick groaned as he tried to place his weight on his injured leg.  "Ok, ok," Ardeth muttered, quickly checking the injury.  "Stay here."

"Ardeth," Rick muttered urgently, "you must protect Evy and the book."  Ardeth nodded and placed his hand on Rick's arm reassuringly.  As Ardeth crouched by Rick's side, both men looked up.  The army of dead had almost reached Evy.

***

At that moment, Jonathan bounded in through another entrance into the throne room, skidding to a halt.  Anck-su-namun stood not twenty feet from him, and beyond her were the dead, moving slowly towards him.  "Whoa!" he cried to himself.

"Jonathan!" Evy screamed, not noticing the small form of her son hiding in the shadows of the doorway.  Her heart leapt into her throat.  Her brother lived!  He looked the same as ever, and Evy wondered if it was possible it had been two years, if it was possible any time had passed at all between them.  Gods, she had missed him.

"Evy!" he yelled joyously, waving the gleaming silver object in his hand.  "I have the key!"

***

The key!  Imhotep's eyes alit on the gleaming silver box, held in the hand of Nefertiri's brother.  Imhotep had not seen Jonathan Carnahan in over two years, but he still remembered what he had done twelve years ago at Hamanuptra: order the soldier mummies to kill Anck-su-namun.  Imhotep flushed with anger at the memory, but as Jonathan waved his arm, and the key moved, glinting, in the air, Imhotep's anger faded away.

Momentarily forgetting his surroundings Imhotep took a step forward.  "The key," he murmured, almost entranced by its gleam.  Without the key his enemies could not open the book or read the spell.  And then Imhotep would defeat them.  And keep his powers forever.

Imhotep took another silent step towards Jonathan, his eyes locked on the key.  But Jonathan did not notice.  He only had eyes for Evy.

***

Evy felt her face might crack her smile was so huge.  Her brother had come for her, with the key, as he had twelve years ago at Hamanuptra, when they had been but children...they could not lose now, not when they were so close, not when all of the pieces were falling into place.  "Jonathan!" Evy yelled.  "Throw me the key!"

But as the words left her mouth, the stream of the dead finally hit.

"Auggghhh!"  Evy cried out.  She flinched instinctively as the army swarmed around her.  Suddenly Evy was surrounded with moving carcasses, and she shuddered at their rotting flesh and empty eyes.  Sightlessly they made their way around her, not touching her, but they were so close Evy could smell their breaths, hot and foul.  Shivering in disgust, Evy cowered, hugging the book tighter to her chest.

***

Nefertiri's cry jerked Imhotep out of his trance.  He turned, seeing that the dead had marched around Nefertiri, and were still heading towards Anck-su-namun.  Why was she not moving?  Did she not realize the danger that she was in?  He had to get the key!  What was she doing?  She could take care of herself!  He had to protect his immortality.

He took another step towards Jonathan, who still held the gleaming silver key tightly in his hand.

***

Jonathan's mouth hung open as he watched the dead surround his baby sister.  "Evy!" he yelled, but as soon as the cry left his lips he could see that she was unharmed.  The dead were leaving her alone, streaming all around her but leaving her untouched.

"I'm alright!" she shouted back, her voice almost drowned out by the droning of the army of dead.  Jonathan took a deep breath with some relief, his eyes wide as he watched the scene before him.  No matter how many times he saw the undead rise, it never failed to amaze him.

***

Imhotep took another step towards Jonathan.  But Anck-su-namun still stood, silent and still, watching as the army of the dead groaned and stumbled towards her.  Imhotep stopped again, completely unsure of what to do.

***

"Uncle Jon," Alex whispered urgently behind him, peeking out from behind the doorway.  Suddenly remembering Alex's presence, Jonathan turned and crouched next to his nephew.  What to do with Alex?  He owed it to Evy and Rick to keep him safe.  He had to stay near Evy to deliver the key, but he should find a safe place for Alex.  Where was Rick?

Jonathan took a quick look, expertly scanning the grand hall.  In the back he could see Rick on the ground and Ardeth crouching by his side.  He exhaled quickly, hoping that Rick was alright.  But Ardeth appeared to be unharmed, and what better place to send Alex than into the arms of his father?

Jonathan turned to look at Alex.  Alex's young blue eyes stared back expectantly, and Jonathan's heart swelled at the trust in them.  They sure did make quite a team.  "Go to your dad," Jonathan urged.

Alex did not need to be told twice.  His face soaring with happiness, Alex moved away from Jonathan, towards his father.  "Dad," he murmured.  Without another word Alex began sneaking down the side of the throne room, making his way towards the man he hadn't seen in two years.

Jonathan gripped the key tightly in his right hand.  He would never admit this later, but he used his left hand to rub across his damp eyes.

***

 "Anck-su-namun, what are you doing?" Imhotep called frantically as he watched the army of dead near her.

But she just stood there silently, a tear sliding down her face.  Evy's heart wrenched in pity.

The dead were almost at Anck-su-namun.   "Anck-su-namun!" Imhotep cried out, torn in frenzied shock and horror, trapped by his own indecision.  "Move!"  

But he did not understand.

***

Adil slid his scimitar through the last mummy, grabbing onto Pierre for support.  "We did it," he murmured, sweat pouring down his bronzed skin.  But his face was flushed with victory, and the deep satisfaction in his eyes reflected their triumph.

"We sure as hell did," Pierre replied, grinning.  Turning and quickly assessing the room, the two warriors ran out of the shadows in the corner.  They quickly made their way over to Ardeth and O'Connell, ready once again to follow the orders of their chieftain.

And still the dead marched towards the queen.

***

No one understood.  Anck-su-namun blinked back a tear as she looked into the face of her love.  He was staring at her with such horror, such confusion, such fear–she could not help but pity him.  But her heart ached that he did not know her.

He was expecting her to move.  He was expecting her to run away from the approaching army of dead.  But she could not.  This was mercy, the mercy that she had been promised: the ability to choose her own destiny.  She took a deep, shuddering breath, mentally preparing herself for what she must do.

Anck-su-namun smiled grimly.  She had lived long, been many things: daughter, concubine, murderess, lover, queen.  She had never given up, had never accepted defeat.  She watched as the dead neared, their rotting bodies coming closer and closer.  In a moment they would be upon her.  She shuddered, shivering with revulsion and foreboding, but she forced herself to remain still.  This was what she wanted, this was the fate she had chosen for herself.

Because in her heart she knew that Imhotep's time was over.  His immortality would be ripped away from him, as it had twice before.  And she would be left with the ruins of the world, with the knowledge of his pain and suffering, with the desperate loneliness.   No.  Imhotep's time on earth was over and so was hers.  She knew it.  All she was left with was the chance to decide how she would leave the world.  A fighter to the bone, Anck-su-namun knew that she would only do so by her own hand.

She would accept her own death.  But only on her own terms.

***

And with a throaty, collective groan of triumph, the dead finally reached her.

The first stumbling corpse reached her, grabbing at her arm.  The second the dead body touched her Imhotep snapped out of his indecision.  The cry ripped out of his throat, disbelieving and utterly horrified.  How had it come to this?  How could their lives have become so warped and twisted that Anck-su-namun was choosing death?

He cried out in agony, his voice filled with misery.  His scream of defiance echoed in the marble chamber.

"No!"

Evy watched as Imhotep began to sprint across the huge room.  Soon a second and a third and a fourth corpse were upon her.  They tugged at her flesh, her hair, clamping their decaying skin against her own.  They wanted to suffocate her life, make her one of them.

Imhotep sprinted, his legs pumping, his bronze body dashing across the hall.  But for every pounding step he took across the marble floor another corpse surrounded her.  It wasn't enough.  Crazed thoughts whirled through his mind as he watched more and more dead enveloping Anck-su-namun.  More and more clustered around her, covering her, pulling her down under their rotting bodies.

He wasn't in time.  It wasn't enough.  He knew his own failure before it happened, saw his own defeat even as he struggled towards the love of his life.  He could taste the metallic flavor of blood in his own mouth...but even as he ran he knew he was immortal, it could not be blood he was tasting.  Perhaps it was the taste of ruin, bitter on his lips.

He opened his mouth to cry out again, but no sound come out.  His lips parted in a wordless cry of pain, of defeat, of the knowledge of utter failure.  And still the dead surrounded the queen, tugging at her, grabbing at her, pulling her down.

And Anck-su-namun went down beneath the mob without so much as a cry.

***

The rotting bodies were pulling her down.  She could feel their dead, twisted hands on her flesh, smell the putrid smell of rotting skin near her own.  She gasped in pain and fear, but not regret.  She had made her decision, and she would live with it.

Suddenly the light overhead was blocked out as more and more bodies covered her.  In the darkness she felt marble beneath her back, and she knew that her time was almost over.

Suddenly, the horror of what she was doing came over her.  She was leaving Imhotep, who she loved more than her own self, she was leaving the land of the living, the only place she had ever known...She was dying, suffocating, she would never be free again, she would go mad...they were killing her, murdering her, she must fight for her life...she struggled and tried to cry out against the dead faces that held her down...

...but no.  With a last jerk and a sigh, her fear subsided.  Suddenly she was calm again, calm as the waters of the Nile that had flowed past the palace at Thebes.  So many lifetimes ago she had waded into that clear water!  With a start, with a sudden dawning comprehension, for the first time she fully understood what it meant that three millennia had passed since the day of her birth.  In that time kingdoms had risen and crumbled to dust.  Oceans had dried and become deserts.

An eternity had passed.

She was a relic of an ancient time, a time whose glory had passed long ago.  Her time was over.  She allowed the rotting bodies to cover her mouth and throat.  It was time to depart this life, this unnatural lifetime she had been granted by some unseen force.

And Anck-su-namun knew that, just as she no longer belonged in this world, neither did Imhotep.  His time would come, soon.  But the mere thought of him brought a smile to her face.  Gods she had loved him.  He had been the sun, the moon, and the stars for her.  He had sacrificed and done everything in his power to bring them together.  But their love was not meant to be.  No matter what they tried, they had been unable to live together in peace and happiness.

Anck-su-namun did not, could not, blame him.  They had both made their choices, walked into their decisions with their eyes wide open.  And they had both lived with the consequences.

And now it was the hour of death.  When she had taken her own life in the palace at Thebes she had believed that Imhotep would resurrect her.  She had murdered herself but had never truly believed that it would be the end.  Death had not felt like death.  She had welcomed it as a gateway to a new rebirth, to a new life with Imhotep, away from Seti and the palace and everything she had hated there.

But she knew that this was truly death.  She would not be coming back.  She struggled in a gasp, her body jerking, her physical body desperately needing air.  Moments in her life appeared, unbidden, in her mind, the memories sliding through her as effortlessly as rain.  It was only now, when she would never have it again, that she realized how precious life was.  But her life was fading.

And she knew that Imhotep would soon follow her.  Maybe they would meet again, in the afterlife, if the Gods were merciful.  "Goodbye, my love," she whispered, before a corpse covered her mouth for the final time.  Her chest racked, needing oxygen to flow through her lungs, but more and more dead bodies moved over her, covering her body with their rotting ones.

She hoped Imhotep would understand.  And she prayed, fervently, her last prayer in this life, for Imhotep.  She owed him her final prayer.  She prayed that one day the curse would be removed from his soul, and he would find peace.

***

"No!  Anck-su-namun!"  Imhotep's final wail of anguish echoed.  Lowering her head, Evy turned away from the pain in his eyes.

Imhotep neared the crush of dead bodies.  Despair and fury coursed through him as he reached out, desperate to pull the corpses away from her.  His heart called out her name–_Anck-su-namun__, my love, my queen–_

She heard his cry.  But she was leaving life in the manner of her own choosing, dying with a final prayer for Imhotep on her lips.

And Anck-su-namun surrendered her body and welcomed death with open arms, finally ready to face the afterlife and the judgement of her Gods.

***

A/N: Apologies about for the long wait for this chapter!  For some reason I had the worst writer's block on this one, so let me know if it turned out ok.  I'm posting this at 4:30 a.m., so if there are obvious typos, or just some obviously horrible sentences, please forgive ;-) I wanted to post as soon as I finished.

What I decided to do, to make the ending clearer and less cluttered, was to divide the text up again.  Thus, instead of two longer chapters (32 + 33) there will be three shortish chapters (32 + 33 + 34).  The story will be 35 chapters instead of 34, sorry to keep changing it on you!  But I hope it makes the story better.

If you want to refresh on the ancient past I created for Nefertiri and Menmet (Evy and Rick), you can check out chapters 16 and 18, _Revelations_ part one and two.  That should clear up any confusion on the relationship between Rick and Anck-su-namun.

Thank you to all my readers and reviewers for putting up with me ;-) You guys rock!****

**Ruse****:** Thank you my friend!  I'm also a sucker for the mythical stuff, I couldn't help but include some ;-) And of course cliffhangers..what would we do without them?  LOL By the way, great work on Softly these last few weeks, as well as on your excellent fanfic site.  And it's nice to finally talk a bit by email ;-)****

**Aulizia****:** Thanks for the extra in-depth review of the last part of the chapter!  I love that concept of time too, exactly as you phrased it, that time is "like a patchwork quilt that can be unpicked and re-sown."  It's fascinating and leads to so many possibilities!  Thanks for reading my sneak peaks, lol...and I know I already owe you another email :-)****

**Soph****:** Evy/Jonny reunion will come...eventually.  You see how I love to drag things out ;-) Thanks for reading!****

**Mommints****:** Your review made me laugh!  And your boy? Hmm, we'll just have to see about that!  Lol, of course I wouldn't let anything happen to everyone's favorite desert warrior.  I'm v. pleased I've provided you with some inspiration.  Thanks for the kind words!****

**Mija****:** Yes ma'am, lol ;-)  Thanks for reading and reviewing.****

**Jessie C.:** Hey...thanks!  Actually, I'm very ambivalent about finishing the story...I've been working on it for over a year, so I do very much want to finish, but I'll be so sad when its over! I'm sure as a writer you've experienced the same thing ;-)  Thanks for the review.  ****

**Eviefan****:** Hey, you're back!  Yes, I figured it was time for our Jonny to panic ;-) Hehe, don't worry, the smack down is coming very shortly.  Thanks!****

**Towmondler****:** I LOVE Billy Madison!  Steve Buscemi with the lipstick is one of the funniest moments in a movie ever!  And, of course, the high school principal: "And if there is any cheating, especially with my wife, who is a dirty, dirty tramp, I will just lose it."  Hehe.  Anyway, thanks for reviewing!****

**Elfpixie****:** Thanks! I would love for it to be a movie, lol.  That would be so fun ;-) Yes, _Redemption_ by Renee is one of my favorite Mummy stories ever.  Other people have requested it, so just email me and I'll send it to you.****

**MBooker****:** Glad you liked the reunion m'dear.  The smack down is coming momentarily!  I just have to finish writing it...Yikes.  Thank you!

**Sabie****:** Thanks!  Yes, Rick is hurt pretty badly, but that man is pretty much indestructible.  Glad the story's continuing to be suspenseful ;-) Thanks for the compliments, I devour them like oreo cookies ;-)****

**Anya****:** Thanks for the review.  I have been rolling a few other Mummy storylines around in my head but I haven't made any decisions.  I'm not going to retire from mummy fanfiction, of course, I just might take a hiatus ;-) But thanks muchly for the encouragement.****

**Jessie McDonald:** Ahhh, Anjelica killing Hubert!  No no no!  Sorry, I'm sure it was just a typo.  I'm glad you liked Hubert, I felt kind of bad killing him off, but someone needed to die ;-)  And thanks for a great compliment: "its amazing how you've developed this story."  I worked, a lot, on my chapter outlines, etc., and so I'm v. pleased that its all playing out successfully.  Thanks!

**AEM: **Yay, a new reader!  I'm always pleased to see a new face.  And I'm doubly happy when it's a Jonathan fan...I have a soft spot for him ;-)  Thanks for reading and for the kind words!


	33. A Shadow Cast By Sunlight

**Chapter Thirty-Three: A Shadow Cast By Sunlight**

"He is hell become heaven, becoming hell.  He is evolution, a matter of energy, a star in the dark tomb, a shadow cast by sunlight.  He is life that can not be contained, a holy insurrection, blessed negativity."  –Excerpt from "Greeting Osiris," _The Egyptian Book of the Dead_, translated by Normandi Ellis

***

Anjelica watched with morbid fascination and pity as Imhotep finally reached the squirming, groaning pile of dead bodies.  Somewhere underneath the moving carcasses was the queen, one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen.

She was sure that by now she was dead.

Anjelica kept carefully in the shadows, her sweaty hand on her scimitar.  She still did not know when she would be needed, if she would be needed.  But she was ready, for when the time came.  She saw that Rick was hurt.  She did not know how badly, but if he needed someone to protect Evy or Alex for him she would do so gladly.

Anjelica watched and waited.

***

"No!"

Imhotep cried out again, his fierce denial echoing in the room.  Finally reaching the crush of dead bodies he began frantically pulling the dead from her and throwing their bodies across the room.  The rubbery carcasses sailed through the air as Imhotep dug down, heartbroken as he searched through the pile for the body of his love.  "Get off of her!" he growled furiously, pushing the stumbling dead aside.  But it was too late.

Even as he pulled her limp body up, he knew that she was dead.  He gripped her soft body tightly to him, holding her as he had held her a thousand times.  Her beautiful dark hair shone, tumbling across his bronze arms.  For a moment she shifted, she moved, she was still alive–

No.  She was dead.  Life no longer coursed through her veins.  She lay still against him.  He could feel his arms trembling as he clutched her.  Why, he had held her just that morning, had kissed her lips, comforted her and drawn her close.  He was wrapped in numbness.  He could not feel.  He shut his eyes against the raging blindness, the roaring in his ears.  His fingers dug into her flesh.

And then the wrap of numbness lifted, and his heart squeezed so tightly inside his chest Imhotep gasped.  A thousand emotions coursed through him.  She was dead, dead, dead.  The realization struck him, hard and sharp, and despair filled him.  Everything that he had fought and killed for had brought them only suffering.  He had wanted to give her the world.  He had wanted to give her everything she had ever dreamed of.  But he had failed.

He kneeled, Anck-su-namun in his arms, and laid her beautiful body down on the marble floor.  Her hair fanned out against the white stone floor, her coppery skin so warm and lifelike against the coldness of the marble.  He slowly drew his hands away, rocking back on his heels.  Her body lay still, one arm draped across her chest.  Lifeless.

A thousand spears flung themselves into Imhotep's heart.  He had failed.  And because of his failure to protect her and give her happiness she had chosen death.  She had chosen to die and leave him.

She had been ready to face the afterworld alone.

And he howled.  It was not a human sound, but an inhuman cry of fury and despair.  His scream echoed.  Why had he been cursed with his heart intact so that he must know such suffering?  As the cry left his body he closed his mouth and shut his eyes against the burning pain.

He bowed his head, his body nearly contorting with rage.  Rage that he had done everything for her.  Rage that nothing he had ever done had been enough.  Rage that he must lose her again.  Rage that life was so blisteringly unfair.  

The fury consumed him.  Looking up from her body, the first thing he saw was Nefertiri's brother standing in the doorway, the key gripped in his clammy hand.  A fierce, inhuman growl emanated from Imhotep's body.  Without thinking, without feeling, without knowing exactly what he did, Imhotep stood.  His eyes narrowed to slits as his body thirsted for vengeance.  He would have his revenge.  The world would know the consequences of his wrath.

Just ten feet from where Jonathan stood, still and shocked, Imhotep squared his body.  Facing the other man down, Imhotep's lips moved into a fierce snarl.  His ferocious gaze bored into Jonathan's.

Jonathan gasped in fear and recognition, stumbling back.  And he watched as Imhotep turned, and came for him.

***

The battle outside was finally over.

Dalil wiped the sleeve of his dark robe across his face, dirt and moisture rubbing onto the dusty fabric.  He took a deep breath, utterly exhausted.  All around him lay dead bodies.

The seeming endless army of the dead had finally petered out.  Of the million dead soldiers only a few hundred were still alive.  Those that had survived had all made it inside the palace.  The felled bodies of the army of dead, along with the slain Med Jai, covered almost every inch of sand.

Dalil forced himself to raise his eyes from the ground, and watched as the last few jackals were quickly dispatched.  Burnt wind whipped across the dusty battlefield.  All that remained were some Med Jai, walking and staggering forward, identities obscured by their dark robes.  Dalil searched their faces and his heart plunged when he saw how few had survived.  He did not see Ardeth either, and he hoped to God he had gone inside the palace.

The desert around him was so covered with lifeless forms that Dalil could barely see the color of the sand.  He lurched forward, tripping over a corpse.  Looking down, he recognized Rashid's lifeless body.  The old man lay on the ground, sand already tossed over his still form.

Dalil remembered how fearsome the old man had been.  He had been a respected elder, a man of wisdom and a will of steel.  And now he lay dead, like so many others.  Dalil bent down to close Rashid's eyes, his fingertips grazing over the dead man's flesh.  As he straightened he noticed that Rashid's scimitar was still clenched in his pale hand.  The old man had gone down fighting.

He couldn't stay here.  Without thinking or knowing exactly what he did Dalil stumbled onward over the bodies, his mind numbed by all of the carnage.  Ah, when he had just been a scout for Ardeth in the mountains–how long ago that seemed!  How naive and innocent and sheltered they had been.

He continued walking, forcing his numb body to move.  He searched the faces of the fallen to see if any perhaps were still alive.  Perhaps there was one who could be saved.

And then he saw it.  The face, half covered in sand.  He crouched, grasping the shoulder of the dead body.  With a grunt Dalil pulled it up.  The body was soft and pliant.  With a tug the head rolled over on a neck of jelly.  The face stared back at him sightlessly.

Dalil let go.  The body slumped back onto the sand.  He tried not to cry out.  He did not know if he spoke or even made a sound.  A long stretching moment passed.  He didn't even realize he was in pain until he looked down at his fingers.  Blood seeped from the places where his teeth had sunk into his flesh, where he had bitten himself to stop the agony that nearly overwhelmed him.

It was the body of his best friend, Hamir.  Hamir.  They had come through Imhotep's raid on the villages together, had scouted together, confided in each other, relied on each other.  They had loved each other as blood brothers.

And now, like so many others, Hamir lay dead.

Dalil's eyes fluttered as he lurched backwards away from the body.  He let his gaze drift up.  All around him lay dead bodies.  Various Med Jai in dark robes were walking slowly around the battlefield, checking on the still forms to see if perhaps some of their tribe lived.  The mighty Med Jai, reduced to this.  It was a cruel joke, a mockery, an insanity.

For a moment, Dalil's vision wavered, and he knew that he wandered on the brink of madness.

Dalil felt his knees weakening.  His scimitar slipped from his grasp, falling harmlessly to the sand.  He stumbled forward, suddenly not caring how the battle fared inside, if Ardeth or the O'Connells had been able to find the gold book.  He did not care.  He wanted no more part of this battle.  He wanted to sink into the sand and sleep and sleep.

Even if they won this battle.  Even if they defeated Imhotep once and for all, victory had come at such a price.  A price of sand and blood.

And he was now alone.

As the wind blew around him it seemed that the very earth howled at the injustice.  Sand flew into his eyes.  Dalil stumbled, fell to his knees, crawled.  Suddenly his gorge rose and nausea flooded him.  He turned and retched, clutching his head and stomach.  He retched until there was nothing left inside of him, until his empty chest was left, heaving nothing but flem and air.

Gasping, coughing, his throat scratchy and raw, Dalil turned from his vomit.  On his hands and knees he inched forward until he found himself a soft spot on the sand.  A small little corner of the desert, waiting for him.  He curled up, his head near his knees.  He hoped that he could sink into the sand, that he could melt away from all this pain and death.  Maybe the Med Jai wouldn't find him.  Maybe they would allow him to slip away, maybe they would honor him for dying in this final battle.

He couldn't move.  The despair and pain overwhelmed him, and for a minute he thought that he was physically unable to breathe.  

He surrendered himself to his misery.  For the next few moments Dalil curled up in the sand, covered his face, and sobbed.

***

Rick grunted and tried to sit forward as Adil and Pierre reached his side.  Ardeth smiled tiredly as the two men approached, all three of them victorious in their fight against the soldier mummies.

The pain in his leg was lessening, and Rick managed to sit completely forward.  The fact that his leg was numbing wasn't exactly a good sign, but for now he was grateful.  If they made it–when, he corrected himself–they made it through this, he would get some medical attention.

Pierre crouched by Rick's side.  "How do you feel buddy?" he asked, unable to suppress a wince as he looked at Rick's bruised leg.  It was very likely the bone was cracked or fractured.  There was no blood, but some very serious bruising and discoloration were visible through Rick's ripped pant leg.

Rick was about to reply when a single word seared through his consciousness.

"Daddy!"

Every other thought flew out of his mind.  Rick looked up as Alex came bounding forward.  In the next second his son had run into his arms.

His child.  His baby.  Alex.

Rick suddenly found his arms wrapped around his son.  His son.  Alex.

Rick could think of nothing else.  All he knew was the small form of his son wrapped in his strong arms.  He forgot where he was, what he was doing, why he was there.  He forgot about the pain in his leg, he forgot about the presence of the others, he forgot that all their lives were potentially in danger.  All he could think about was Alex.

His arms tightened around him.  He almost didn't believe it.  Was it really his son?  After all this time was Alex back in his arms?  Could it be true?

"Dad," Alex murmured into his ear, his small arms clutched around Rick's neck.  And Rick knew that he would never again let go of his son.  He hugged Alex's small body fiercely, tears misting in his eyes.  "My boy," he choked out, overwhelmed by emotion.

It did not matter that two years had passed.  It did not matter he had missed part of Alex's life, that he had missed seeing him grow and change.  He was here now.  Rick vowed that he would never again let anything happen to his family.

They would have the rest of their lives together, no matter what.

And father and son simply held each other, as the rest of the world faded away.

***

Imhotep had almost reached Jonathan.

"Throw me the key!" Evy shouted.

Jonathan held the key, his hands damp and clammy, watching semi-stunned as Imhotep neared.  He took a deep breath to calm himself.  "Throw this more accurately than you threw the scepter of Osiris," he thought to himself.  Then Jonathan cocked his arm, aiming for Evy, and let the key, heavy and cold in his palm, sail through the air.

Just as the key flew from Jonathan's outstretched arm, Imhotep plowed into him, his inhuman eyes dark and furious. 

***

The silver key sailed across the room.  It flew in slow-motion, end over end, a glinting gem that seemed to wink as it hung on the very air.

Evy reached out her hands, her eyes locked on the gleaming silver object that floated towards her.  From somewhere deep inside of her she felt a shiver, a shadow of the woman she had been...As the key neared she could almost hear Nefertiri's lilting voice whisper to her..._do not be afraid, for this is your fate...every key must be turned, and you are the hand that must end the cycle...catch your destiny, queen, mother, sister of my soul, my self... _

And the key flew into her hands.  The force of it caused her to stumble slightly, but the silver box had found its master.  It, too, had finally come home again.  Evy's fingers wrapped around the key.

No other human would ever touch it again.

***

The force of Imhotep's body sent Jonathan down with a gasp of pain.  He thudded hard on the marble floor, crying out as his hurt body protested against the abuse.  But Imhotep stood over him, growling.  In another second the priest had picked Jonathan up.  Holding him aloft in the air, with a groan, Imhotep hurled Jonathan across the room.  

Jonathan flew.  He landed hard on his shoulder, his rubbery body slamming into the cold floor.  He lay still and unmoving.

***

As Jonathan landed heavily on the ground, Ardeth turned to Rick.  Rick looked up from holding Alex and met his eyes.  Ardeth knew that Rick was depending on him now to protect Evy and the book.  The trust in his best friend's face was a seed of comfort that stole up through Ardeth's body and wrapped itself securely around his heart.  Ardeth knew that it was his turn to face Imhotep.  Rick had kept him at bay, but no single mortal man could contain the priest.  It was Ardeth's turn.

He was bruised and tired but there wasn't much time left.  He had a job to do and he would do it.  He had to contain Imhotep until Evy could open the gold book and read the spell.  With a deep breath of intent purpose, Ardeth exhaled, knowing that these next few moments would determine the fate of the world.

"Go, my friend," Rick said, his arms wrapped around Alex.  Ardeth nodded, swallowing his emotion.  Seeing the two of them reunited would last Ardeth a lifetime.  All he had fought for was worth it if the two of them had found each other again.

With a swift nod, Ardeth grasped the hilt of his sword.  Turning to Adil he motioned brusquely to Rick and Alex.  "Watch them," he said curtly.  He would face Imhotep but he would never leave his injured friend unguarded.

He only had a moment.  His eyes scanned the room as Imhotep stood looking at Jonathan's unmoving body.  Ardeth exhaled quickly, hoping to Allah that Jonathan had survived his fall.  Ardeth turned and looked into the eyes of Pierre. "Protect Jonathan."

Both Adil and Pierre nodded in assent as Ardeth turned away from them, his hand clenching the hilt of his deadly blade.

It was time for the Chieftain of the mighty Med Jai to face down the Creature.

***

Imhotep turned from Jonathan's body.  Immediately his eyes found Nefertiri.  She sat, crouching on the floor.  The golden book of Amun-Ra lay next to her, gleaming softly.  Ordinarily he would have been captivated and distracted by the sight of the book.  But what interested him the most was what Nefertiri was doing.

She sat, her fingers wrapped around the gleaming silver box.  The key.

"Give that to me," he growled, his voice echoing in the chamber.  He began striding straight for Evy.  He would take the key and the book.

And then he would have his revenge on them all for the death of Anck-su-namun.

***

Evy felt a trickle of sweat run down the front of her face.  But she could not spare an extra second.  If she did not get the key open within the next few moments she would be dead.

She fumbled frantically, desperately trying to open the key.  But the locking mechanism refused to work.  She struggled with it, to no avail.  She pressed the trigger, again and again, praying that the key would suddenly spring open.

But the box's wings did not budge.  Panic soared through her.  What would she do now?

***

Imhotep was half of the way to Evy.  She crouched on the floor, the golden book next to her, desperately wrestling with the silvery key.  How ironic, Imhotep thought to himself as he neared her.  She had both the book and the key but could do nothing against him.  A dark smile crossed his face.

In moments revenge would be his.

***

With a battle cry Ardeth hurled himself in the path of Imhotep.  "Not so fast," Ardeth growled, brandishing his sword in the air.

"You!" Imhotep cried furiously, coming to a stop in the middle of the room.  His perfect bronze body glistened.

Ardeth stood carefully between Imhotep and Evy in ready position, his scimitar naked in his hand.  "Open the key Evy!" he shouted over his shoulder, never breaking eye contact with the priest.

"I'm trying!" she cried back, still wrestling furiously with the small box.

But a slow smile crept over Imhotep's face.  "The key is broken.  You will lose.  You still want to fight me, Med Jai?"  He bent down and picked up a discarded sword from the floor–one of the swords his soldier mummies had used.

Imhotep straightened and twirled the blade expertly in his hand.  "You've been waiting a long time for this, haven't you?"  He smiled darkly, noticing a small streak of blood on the edge of the sword.

Ardeth growled, the ancient fury rising up inside of him.  All he needed to do was delay Imhotep until Evy could get the key open.  All he needed was strength for a few moments.  He gritted his teeth.

"Too long," Ardeth replied as he stepped forward, swinging his scimitar powerfully into the light.  Imhotep too swung his blade forward, and the swords met, the two pieces of sharp metal screaming along each other.

***

Pierre reached Jonathan's side.  The Englishman lay prone and sprawled, and for a moment Pierre was truly afraid that he was dead.  He gently touched his side, fearing the worst.  Guilt shot through him.  They had traveled from Shanghai to the deserts of Egypt together, had risked their lives more than once.  But he had never truly gotten to know him, had never truly tried to understand him.

"Jon," he whispered, his calloused hand going around Jonathan's shoulder.

At that Jonathan's body jerked to life.  His mouth opened in a loud yelp of pain.  Turning over and squinting up into Pierre's eyes, Jonathan groaned.  "About bloody time," he muttered.

As Pierre looked on him in frozen surprise and relief, Jonathan rolled his eyes and grunted.  "Help me up!  And mind the sore shoulder!"

***

Ardeth and Imhotep battled fiercely across the great hall.  But even as he fought Ardeth knew that he was losing.

He was exhausted.  He had not realized how exhausted he was.  He had fought Anubis warriors out on the sands, he had battled soldier mummies, and now he was facing the Lord of the Dead himself in his own throne room.  Only a few more moments, Ardeth promised himself as his sword connected painfully with Imhotep's hateful thrust.

Didn't the creature ever tire? Ardeth wondered resentfully as he ducked another potentially deadly swipe.  Backing up Ardeth took a deep breath, gaining a few extra precious seconds.  Evy, he begged silently, please open the key.  Please end this once and for all.

Because he knew that he was almost finished.

***

Looking up in horror at Ardeth and Imhotep's battle, Evy knew in a second that Ardeth was close to being finished.  His sheer exhaustion was evident in every movement of his bruised body.  Something had to be done.

There were no other options.  She had to open the key.  Immediately.

In frustration and helplessness, Evy banged the key on the marble floor.  As the box hit the floor Evy heard a tiny click, an unhinging.  The force of the blow echoed.   The key reverberated in her hand.

Her hand in midair, Evy opened her grip.  She let the key slip from her palm.  It fell, as in slow motion, back to the earth.  And as it fell back to the marble floor, with a hiss and a gleam, the key's wings shuttered open.

***

Ardeth fell to the ground.  The force of Imhotep's cutting slash had been too much for him.  He had blocked the blow only to find himself stumbling backwards, and falling.  His back hit the marble floor and Ardeth closed his eyes.  The world slowed in that moment, and Ardeth mentally prepared himself for death.

But as Imhotep took the final step towards the Med Jai King, raising his sword to end his life, he heard the sound of the key unlocking.  In shock he turned.  And saw the wings of the gleaming key spring open in mid-air.

***

"No!"

Imhotep cry of disbelief and denial echoed, but it was too late.  In one deft motion Evy placed the opened key in the book and turned the lock.

And the golden book of Amun-Ra clicked open.

***

Ooooh!  Cliffhanger!  Hehe.  Thank you all!  I mean it this time, only two chapters left!

Onto the shoutouts...

**Deana:** I know, just like Jonathan to stumble in at the last minute...but that's what I love about him I suppose *sigh* And it seems your little wish has been granted...no, just kidding.  But there is some Ardeth! ;-) Thanks my friend!****

**Mommints****:** Aww, I hate it when ff.net does that!  I'll just lay here tonight and imagine what lovely things you said about the chapter.  Actually, the review you left was praise enough.  Thank you!  And will there be more "H4" soon?****

**SorrowRain****:** Yay!  Another new reader!  Very happy to hear from you...and of course thrilled you're a Jonathan fan.  Thanks for the compliments.****

**Jessie C:** Wow, long review!  Well, let me start off by saying that I haven't gotten a chance to check out your stories, but when I find a few free moments I will try to drop by.  I appreciate your reading and reviewing Hereafter, of course.  And you're right: writing well is very difficult, creating fully fleshed out characters and good story lines is not easy.  That's why so many of us choose to dabble in fanfiction: we get to play around with terrific characters and premises already created for us...it makes starting up and writing a lot easier.  That said, I don't know what makes a "true writer"...I don't know if that's a proper title, or a name that can be easily defined.  Anyway, good luck on your next story, my first fanfic sucked too, so no worries...we all get better by practicing.****

**Ruse:** So glad you liked the switching of perspectives!  I was/am trying to capture the feeling of the movie's battle scenes, particularly the finale of TMR.  So yay!  Chamber Maid Ruse, lol.  We'd all like to comfort Immy, wouldn't we...well, maybe not when he's furious and hell-bent on revenge ;-).  Yes, poor Anck-su-namun and Immy...I still hate the ending of TMR where she runs away, and I like to think that if she was going to leave Immy it would be more like this, not a stupid, selfish act of cowardice.  Thanks for the compliments and great work on Softly!****

**Silverfox****:** Lol, sorry you had to go through so much just to read the chap!  And kill off Alex, hmmm...I hadn't thought of that, but now that you mention it...ok, just kidding.  That would be pretty low, I must say myself.  Thanks for the review, glad you're enjoying the story :-)****

**MBooker****:** I rock too?  Yay!  Hmm, k.  Yeah, it was intense writing it too.  And about your complaint...well, I hope I addressed it in this chapter.  Yay for reunions.  Thanks my friend!****

**Eviefan****: **Thanks!  I was angry at TMR too for making Anck-su-namun run away.  I like to think I've slightly corrected that wrong ;-) You're absolutely right...it's been a fun ride, but its time to wrap this baby up.  On with the show indeed!****

**Elfpixie****:** Glad the emails went through.  Thanks for the review :-)****

**Nickie****:** Welcome! I'm always happy to see a new reviewer!  Thanks for the kind words ;-)****

**Aulizia****:** Oooh, feel better!  Thanks for taking time to review when you're feeling so crappy ;-) And thanks...you made me blush all alone here in my room.  I'm so pleased that I made you feel sorry for Anck-su-namun...your compliments are enough to make me smile for a week.  And I would never get tired of you, silly :-)****

**Anya****:** Yup you're definitely right...Anck-su-namun has the soul of a queen.  Thanks for the review :-)****

**Towmondler****:** Ooh, a Billy Madison "quote-off", eh?  Well how about this: "Never say that!  Stay here as long as you can!....Cherish it!"  Now that I'm writing this I'm worrying that I might lose everyone else's respect if I keep quoting this movie.  Ah well.  It is a classic.  But anyway...thank you my friend for the compliments!  And that cookie sounds delicious...how about chocolate chip, mega-size, hot and soft and chewy, right from the oven?  Hmmm....****

**Jessie McDonald:** Yeah, Anjelica and Hubert as a couple would work great...except that one of them is dead.  LOL.  Thanks for reading and reviewing :-)

**Mija****: **Glad you liked it.  Thanks for the review!


	34. The Darkness or the Light?

**Chapter Thirty-Four: The Darkness or the Light?**

"You shall lie in the fields and kiss the earth.  Raise your arms.   You shall see the fury and power of god and change forever."  –Excerpt from Awakening Osiris by Normandi Ellis

***

Crouching on the ground, shivering with fear, Evy threw open the golden cover.

As the ancient book opened she could almost hear the sigh of relief, the release of a breath held in trembling anticipation.  The book was glowing, slightly warm to the touch...and as Evy's fingertips trailed along the chiseled spells she suddenly felt the fear leave her.  No, she was no longer afraid.

A certainty flooded her, the certainty that she felt when arriving in Egypt for the first time as a young girl, the certainty of coming home again.  She _knew_ this book, it knew her, they were linked together forever.  Conviction surged through her.  It was time, the book was meant for her hands, and her hands alone.  She would never be able to contain or harness the power, but it was now, in her hour of need, in the hour of her destiny–Evy knew that the book would not betray her.

She would fulfill her destiny and complete the terrible cycle three millennia in the making.

As the cover of the open book hit the marble floor, Imhotep's face darkened with fury.  "You should not have done that Princess!" he roared, his voice echoing in the throne room.  Abandoning Ardeth, Imhotep charged towards her, depraved malevolence shining in his eyes.  He neared her, getting closer and closer

But Evy was not afraid.  The Queen of Egypt had returned.

***

Rick looked up as Imhotep's furious threat echoed across the room.  His arms still wrapped around Alex, Rick watched in horror as Imhotep strode across the room–towards the crouching form of his wife.

"Evy!" he cried, her name ripping from his desperate throat.  How had he not noticed how close to danger she was?

In a moment her death flashed before his eyes, the past washing over him, the devastating failure once again ripping at his very soul.  He relived it, once again crouching over her, the vast pyramid of Ahm Shere looming behind him.  She lay slackened, legs sprawled, her hands clenched tightly over her wound.  The memory was so real Rick could feel the sand, hot and gritty beneath him, see clearly the same pain and sorrow that had welled in her eyes.  And she was asking him to take care of Alex.  Without her.  Rick blinked, for a moment not sure which world he was in.  Was Evy beneath him, dying?  Was that her small hand captured in his own?  Or was it Imhotep's throne room, cavernous and cold around him...

Rick blinked and the world slid back into focus.  Evy was rapidly scanning the gold page before her.  But there wasn't enough time.

There wasn't enough time.

Imhotep was going to reach her.  The cry screamed from Rick's aching throat.  "No!"

The priest growled, his muscular body stalking forward, almost upon Evy's small form.

***

Evy only needed a few more seconds.

And she got them.

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, came Anjelica, golden sword swinging.  In a blur she rushed towards Imhotep's striding form.

She had suddenly understood what her part was in all of this.  It was small and short, but no less significant.  And Imhotep never saw it coming.

Rick's mouth dropped open in shock as he watched Anjelica run across the room.  Imhotep will kill her!  What is she doing?  Rick thought frantically.

Her dark hair flying out behind her, without breaking stride, Anjelica swung her blade up and into the light.  The sword cleaved through the air, the sharp edge gleaming.  And it sliced Imhotep's right arm cleanly off.  With a resounding thwak the severed limb thumped dully to the ground.

Anjelica stopped, the sword gripped tightly in her clammy hands.  She stared at the mutilated arm.  And then, in genuine shock at her success, looked up.  Right into Imhotep face.  

For a split second Imhotep stood, armless, in numbed surprise.  And then the priest roared with displeasure.  Taking his free arm, Imhotep grabbed the neck of Anjelica's shirt.

Effortlessly he picked the Mexican woman up and threw her across the room.  He tossed her as though she were nothing but a bean bag.  In mid-air her sword slipped from her hand and clattered harmlessly on the marble floor.

She slammed into the far wall.  She slid heavily to the ground and lay, not moving.

***

But those few, precious extra seconds had given Evy the time she needed to search for the familiar words, the words that would rip away Imhotep's immortal soul.

As Imhotep fastened his arm back on Evy crouched over the gold book, her brown eyes running over every line, searching for the passage she had read twelve years ago.  She searched quickly, turning the heavy golden pages.  The metal sheets gleamed, each carved with spells powerful enough to change fate, to alter human destiny forever.  But Evy's eyes slid across them, only concerned with one spell: the spell of death.

As Imhotep began striding towards her once again, he neared her crouching form.  He was only feet away, his face determined and violent, when Evy raised her head.

She watched him coming towards her as she opened her mouth.  And then she began to speak.

Her words echoed, rippling the air with magic.  Power surged from her small form as her voice cried out in the chamber.  _"Kadeesh mal!__ Kadeesh mal! Pared oos! Pared oos!"_

***

The ancient words echoed.  Imhotep stopped, paralyzed, staring at her.

And then a great wind whipped around them, and the very floor began to shake and rattle with anger.  Stars flashed before Evy's eyes as it seemed the entire world trembled and vibrated.  Evy's skin tingled with fear as ancient magic pulsed in the air. 

With a sudden jolt the power surged through her, white and hot as molten gold.  She gasped as her body quivered with light, and as she raised her arms to the sky Evy felt the boundaries of the world bend at her fingertips.  For a single moment she was more than queen, she was goddess, she was the shimmering vessel of the Gods.  

And joy coursed through her, and Evy realized with a shock that she enjoyed the feeling of power.

Suddenly her body spasmed, unable to contain the pulsing magic that filled her.  Her head bucked and was thrown back, long hair streaming down her back, as she trembled, caught in a surging moment of silent ecstacy.  Her entire body filled with holy light, and quavered and shivered with awesome, unspeakable power. 

Imhotep's bronzed face slowly widened in shock.  Power still pulsating through her small form, Evy struggled against it to pull her head forward.  Quivering with divinity, Evy's brown eyes seared into Imhotep's dark ones.

Imhotep stumbled back, towards his own golden throne, as though Evy had lashed him with burning metal.  Light, fierce and powerful and utterly beautiful, radiated from her piercing gaze.  Imhotep saw the divine light pouring forth from her, and felt the holiness surrounding him.  And slowly realization dawned across his features.

And so the darkness finally faced the light.

The wind picked up, suddenly howling and filling the grand hall, rushing and swirling about.  Rick grasped Alex and held him close, sheltering him from the angry wind that screamed by them.  Jonathan and Pierre shielded each other against the far wall.  Evy felt her dark hair pulled back off her shoulders in the gale, and turned.

And the golden doors to the throne room burst open.

***

The Chariot of Anubis came screaming in.  It sailed through the air, the four glittery horses wildly tossing their plumed heads.  They shimmered, translucent and silvery blue, as the ethereal chariot flew into the throne room.

Evy squinted against the wind she saw that the small chariot looked exactly the same as it had twelve years ago, in the bowels of Hamanuptra.  The great translucent vehicle suddenly spotted its victim, and in a billowing stream of blue light it turned.  The chariot bounced, its wheels turning frantically as it screeched towards the priest.  The ghost hooves pounded against the stone floor.

The priest looked up, wind whipping by his head, and saw the great blue chariot of Anubis coming for him.  It roared towards him, to steal his powers and immortality.

It was coming to make him human again.

And Imhotep closed his eyes, not sure if he wanted to laugh or cry, ready to break into hysterical laughter or the fiercest weeping.  The bitter irony of his life flooded him.  The Gods had indeed given him power.  But his rule was over.  The Gods were reclaiming the earth.  They had taken back the Scepter and the Bracelet and the Book of the Dead.  The tides of the world were changing.  The time of the ancients was truly over. 

And he must go with it.

And then the shimmering chariot rushed through him and he felt himself screaming, although he did not know if he made any sound.  His immortal soul was clawing at his body, desperate to stay with its mortal vessel.  Imhotep gasped in pain as it tore within him, as his soul cleaved in two.  He would not let it go, he would never surrender his powers, he would defy the will of the Gods...his soul clutched madly to him, afraid, unwilling, defiant...but no.

With a final tear, he felt it separate, felt his immortality and power slide out of his body.  Emptiness consumed him.  He gasped as though he had been stripped entirely naked.  His powers were gone, and weakness laced tightly around his heart.  He took a ragged breath, suddenly utterly exhausted.

Imhotep turned, his eyes opened wide, watching the gleaming horses ride away.  And in the back of the chariot, desperately reaching out for its body, was Imhotep's immortal soul.

And then his humanity rushed back into him, so fierce he felt he might weep.  The feelings, the old emotions–the hate, the love, the hope, the fear–they surged through him so powerfully Imhotep gasped, clawing at his chest.  His mouth open in the pain of change, Imhotep realized what had happened.

He had traded the human half of his cursed soul to Anubis for his army.  But Anubis had failed him, and his dark army of jackals had been defeated.  In repayment, the humanity he had sacrificed was returned to him.  Imhotep's hands rose to his chest, as though to feel his heart through his skin.  He was still a cursed, dark being.  But he was not evil.

His eyes misted in wonder.  Ah, how precious humanity was!  He blinked back a tear as the old feelings seeped back into his body.  He had missed them–the compassion, the understanding, the love and admiration even for his enemies.  He had not wanted to be evil.  He had traded his soul to protect Anck-su-namun, and to find peace.

For a moment joy surged through him.  He was no longer the chosen one of Anubis.  He was no longer fully evil.  There was a chance, for him, there was hope...

But even as those thoughts raced through his mind he knew that it was too late.  He knew, without a doubt, that his time was over.  It was time for him to die.

He turned away from the departing chariot, and saw all.  Saw O'Connell and the little boy holding each other in love.  Saw the Med Jai chieftain standing and watching him, his face without understanding or pity.

And saw Nefertiri lay down the golden book.  She stood, turned, and faced him.  They stared at each other.

This, indeed, was the end.

***

Imhotep felt his knees weakening, his body slackening in defeat.  He no longer even had the will to fight.  He had fought for his rule when he believed that it was right, but he was no fool.  Even the Gods had turned against him, and he would not dispute their will.

The Princess walked forward, stopping and picking up a sword lying on the ground.  The blade scraped loudly against the marble, and as she raised it into the air the golden sword gleamed in the light.  Armed, Nefertiri walked straight towards him.  Her face was blank and expressionless.  Imhotep watched, motionless, as she neared him.  She came to a stop right before him.

Slowly she raised the gleaming blade until it was pointing at his chest, the sharp edge mere inches from his mortal skin.  Their eyes were level, and as Imhotep looked into her brown depths he saw compassion, and regret...and a will of iron.  She looked regal, powerful–every inch a Queen.

And Imhotep kneeled before her.

"Do not send me back to that hell," he whispered, his eyes wet and desperate.  He would leave the world willingly, but he did not know if he could bear returning to his eternal suffering.  His eyes begged her for mercy.

Rick struggled to his feet, placing Alex down gently on the marble floor.

"I would not condemn you," Evy whispered, her voice wavering.  "This world is not your world."  Her eyes shone in the dim light.  

Rick and Ardeth moved quietly towards Evy to stand behind her, making sure she did not fall.  Pierre and Jonathan stood near the grand doorway, leaning heavily on each other.  Jonathan swallowed a lump in his throat as he watched her, his little sister, the woman he loved most in the world.  She was so brave.

Evy lowered the sword, pointing it towards his broad chest.   The tip of the blade glinted, almost touching Imhotep's bronzed flesh.  "I do not curse you, High Priest of Osiris."  Her voice, loud and clear, rang through the chamber.  

"Mum–" Alex began, frightened, but closed his mouth abruptly.  Adil stepped forward and placed his hand on Alex's shoulder to comfort him.

But Evy did not notice.  She only had eyes for Imhotep.  Her gaze trained on him, she offered him her final goodbye.  "Imhotep, I send you back to your Gods."  She faltered slightly, her knees weakening, and Rick took another step forward so that he was just behind her.  But she stood strong.

"You have suffered and you have sinned.  But the Gods are merciful.  I send you back to them, and I pray that one day you find your peace."

And she plunged the curved sword downward.

***

The sword sliced cleanly through his skin and into his chest, disappearing into the bone and sinew and muscle of his mortal body.

Pain shot through him.  His eyes gaped wide, his mouth opened slightly in pain.  He was dying.  Imhotep looked up into Nefertiri's eyes as he fell backwards onto the stone floor, at the foot of his own throne.  The floor was cold beneath his back.  But suddenly the physical pain faded.  His mind was quiet.  His own ragged breath echoed.

Imhotep was beyond pain.

His vision blurred and he knew he did not have long.  He wondered fiercely where he would be going, where his final destination would be.  Would it be back to the eternal suffering and damnation?  Or would it be to another place, where he could find Anck-su-namun again?  Or, perhaps, had the Gods heard Nefertiri's plea, and removed the unholiness from his soul?

He gasped for breath, his hand pressed tightly against the sticky blood that gushed from his stomach.  He could feel it pooling on the floor beside him.  The blood felt warm, foreign, and yet, oddly comforting.  He was dying as a man, as the man he had been.  He was human again, even if it was only for a few short moments.

His head spun and Imhotep closed his eyes.  What was it about dying that made him feel at peace?  He no longer felt anger, or fear, or hate.  It was as though he had finally been removed from the world, and so from all his earthly ambitions.  In this state of death the dark, cursed part of his soul receded.  He could leave the earth as the same man he had been when he entered it.  He took a ragged breath, but inside he was calm.  He was ready.

He fluttered his eyes open again, but the light seemed harsher, colder.  The colors seemed strange, foreign to him, and he blinked again, trying to regain his vision.  But his view shifted and blurred and he knew that he would never see again.  This was the world's way of saying goodbye.

His thoughts drifted to Nefertiri, who herself had swung the blade that was ending his life.  But he did not hate her.  He did not even regret it.  Anck-su-namun was dead.  The only place that could possibly give him any happiness was in the afterlife, in the arms of the Gods.  For what was power, what was a crown, if he must possess it alone?

He felt blood slowly filling his lungs and he felt his physical body jerk and struggle to breathe.  He gasped for air and felt himself cough, once, feebly.

His eyes fluttered shut, and his eyelids felt heavy, so heavy, he felt he could not work up enough energy to lift them.  Muffled sounds filled his ears, but he knew not who spoke, or what they said. 

A sudden memory slid through him, as vivid as it had been three millennia ago.  A dark corridor in Seti's palace, a shadowy space hidden behind a column.  Anck-su-namun's warm body pressed up against the stone wall, her dark, bewitching eyes staring back at him.  He had cupped her beautiful face and sworn his love to her, their two coppery bodies pressed together, concealed in the shadows.  They had been so young then, so in love, so heedless of anything but their passion.  He had never stopped loving her, not for a second, not for a moment.  She had been his life.  He had lived for her.

Imhotep sighed, feeling his body slacken, his limbs relaxing.  For a moment, he felt he could be floating.  All he had ever wanted was to live in peace with Anck-su-namun.  He had sacrificed everything he ever had for her, had tried every way he knew of giving her happiness.  But now, his failure was not so bitter.  He accepted it as his fate.  The Gods had used him to suit their own purposes, and he had done their will: he had fulfilled his duty to them.  A glimmer of hope surged through him.  Perhaps now, in his death, he would be given what he had sought for three thousand years.

As the life left him he knew he was beginning a new journey, but to where he did not know.  His eyes flickered open, but all he could see were shadows.

To the darkness, or maybe the light.

And Imhotep closed his eyes on the world, for the final time, and died.

***

Evy watched as Imhotep's body slumped before her, the sword from her hand imbedded deep in his body.  For a long moment she stood, still, looking at Imhotep's dead body.  It was all over.  She swallowed, disbelieving.  She took a small step backwards.  It was all over.

She turned, and suddenly Rick's arms were wrapped around her.  She nearly collapsed with relief as he enfolded her.  "Oh, Rick–" and they were pressed together, holding each other, remembering the curve and feel of each others bodies.  Evy felt herself sobbing, her tears dampening Rick's shirt, but they held each other close, reunited at last.

She loved this man so much.  She breathed in his scent, amazed that he still smelled the same.  She had forgotten nothing.  She clutched him tighter, feeling his floppy hair, his muscular neck, reacquainting herself with his body, with all of the little things about him that she had so desperately missed.  "Love you," she got out.

"Always," he whispered back, his arms wrapped so tightly around her Evy had to struggle to breathe.  But she was not complaining.

"Dad!" Alex shouted, running across the throne room.  He threw himself into the arms of his parents, and the three sunk to the floor, holding each other and crying and laughing.

And for a moment, fate paused, allowing the O'Connells their moment of reunion.

***

But not for long.  Tension filled the air and Evy knew that the Gods were not yet finished.  She raised her tear stained cheeks to look around, just as a great wind suddenly rushed by, filled the grand room.  It blew around them, whipping frantically about their heads. 

With a sudden jerk the entire palace started shaking.  The floor trembled beneath them and Jonathan fell, almost pulling Pierre with him.  Rick and Evy clung to each other and Alex, watching in terror as the entire golden palace began quaking beneath them.

"Whoa, time to go!" Rick yelled, grabbing Evy with one hand and Alex with the other.  The three began sprinting towards the far doorway, where Pierre was quickly helping Jonathan to his feet.

As they turned to run, Evy looked down on the floor where the Book of the Living still lay, gleaming in the candlelight.  It still shone with its sinister beauty, the malevolent gleam of its gold cover.  Evy released Alex's hand to take a staggering step towards where it lay, reaching for it,  pristine even as the very heavens were falling down upon it...

But no.  It was the end of an age.  The Book of the Dead, the Scepter, and the Bracelet were all gone from the world forever.  The Gods had taken them back when they had no further use in the world.  The last of the Ancient relics, the Book of the Living and the Key, must go with them.  Their time was over.

Evy let her gaze sweep over the book one last time.  Ah, there was a day when she would have moved mountains to find it and possess it, to pour over every word and devour all she could from it.  But those days were over.  The book was not hers to possess.

She had learned.

She drank in the gold, the winged scarab, the immense knowledge and power that seeped from it one final time.  Then she turned her back on it.

"Let's go!" she shouted, grabbing Alex's hand.

And as she started to run, she felt the power of the book release her.  It was as though a giant burden had been removed from her shoulders.  The ancient book was content to leave the world–and it was letting her go.

***

"Come on, come on!" Jonathan urged from the massive gold doorway, waving his arms as his family sprinted across the shaking chamber.  Ardeth and Adil were close behind them, all hurrying and stumbling and desperately trying to stay on their feet.

As they reached the grand entryway, Rick skidded to a stop.  "Anjelica!"

Ardeth and Adil nearly bumped into Rick and Evy from behind as the entire group collided by the trembling doors.  The ceiling had begun to crumble and dust and debris had begun to fall.  A slab of marble suddenly loosed from the ceiling and crashed to the floor, splintering into a thousand pieces.

Rick's arm was wrapped around Evy's shoulder and his other hand was on Alex's blond head.  Turning, Rick met Ardeth's eyes in simultaneous recognition and panic.  Both swung around, searching for Anjelica's still form.  Was she alive?  And if she was, was there time to save her?

At the group's hesitation Jonathan squeaked, still leaning heavily on Pierre.  "Let's go!"

"Jonathan, go!" Evy ordered, pushing Alex into his uncle's arms.

His mouth opening to protest, Jonathan saw in her gaze a look that refused defiance.  He gulped and nodded, grasping Alex's cotton shirt.  "Let's go, old chum," he murmured.

Alex looked up into his mother's face, and at her nod of reassurance, turned back to Jonathan. Turning, Jonathan and Pierre and Alex sprinted down the marble hallway, toward the outside, and safety.

Meanwhile Rick had released Evy and moved back into the room, Ardeth at his side.  "I can't leave her," Rick muttered, blinking through the dust filled air.  On the left a column cracked and leaned.  Above it the ceiling buckled.

"Be careful!" Evy cried as Rick and Ardeth began making their way to the side wall, searching for Anjelica's unconscious body.  Adil moved to her side, one hand resting protectively on her arm.  If anything happened to Ardeth or Rick, Adil knew that he would be responsible for helping Evy.

Evy gasped in fear as two of the men she loved most in the world disappeared into the haze of dust.  She could hear marble crashing to the floor but could not see what was happening.  The massive chamber continued to shake around them, and Evy clutched one hand to the door frame, simply trying not to fall.

She could do nothing but wait.

***

The air was so thick with dirt and debris Rick could hardly see.  He could sense Ardeth beside him but he could barely see his own hands in front of his face.  They made their way across the room, feeling, desperately hoping that they found the place where Anjelica had fallen.

Coughing, his eyes raw and burning, Rick bumped into the wall.  He could still sense Ardeth near him, but he realized that there was no way he could find Anjelica in this dust cloud.  He attempted to turn around, but suddenly realized that he did not know if he could find his way out.  "Ardeth, old buddy!" he shouted, but his friend barely heard his call in the wind.

He turned again, trying desperately to get back his sense of direction, but his heart plummeted.  He dizzied and reached out blindly.  He was lost.

"Evy!" he screamed, putting every ounce of power into his yell.  "Go!"

He was afraid his cry had been carried off by the wind, but he heard her response.  "Rick, no!"

Through the fog her voice seemed to be coming at him from a thousand directions.  He stumbled, his knee connecting painfully with a broken slab of metal.  "Evy, get out of here!"

***

Evy hesitated, taking in the scene before her.  The very ceiling and walls had begun themselves dissolving into sand.  Debris flew through the air and Evy realized that, very shortly, Imhotep's palace would cease to exist.

"Go!" she ordered Adil, pushing him towards the hallway to safety.

"I won't leave you!" he called back, grasping her arm with his huge hand.

Evy turned fiercely back to the dust cloud.  She couldn't, wouldn't leave Rick.  It was unthinkable.  But from somewhere a memory returned to her, a memory of a time she had lain dying on the sands of Ahm Shere.  She had known she was leaving the world, and so the only thing she had demanded of Rick was that he take care of Alex.

If she didn't leave now Alex would be parentless.  It was her own command.  Her heart sinking, Evy knew she had to follow it.

The floor cracked and split beneath her feet and Evy fell, pulling Adil with her.  Rumbling furiously the marble buckled beneath them.  In a matter of minutes this entire room would be gone.  On her knees, Evy shouted into the wind.  "I love you!"

There was no response.  Grasping Adil's dark robe Evy struggled to her feet.  She gritted her teeth, making the hardest decision she had ever had to make in her life.  "Let's go," she muttered, pulling the Med Jai toward safety. 

As she ran, desperate tears welled in her eyes.

***

Evy and Adil's feet pounded on the cracking marble as they ran to safety.  As they cleared the palace gates Evy could see Jonathan and her son standing further out on a dune.  As they sprinted across the desert, Evy looked over her shoulder in wonder.

The entire palace complex: the golden palace itself, the slaves quarters, the temple of Osiris, the guest palace, and the baths all began to dissolve.  The marbled buildings, made of stone and metal, began to turn into sand.

Breathing heavily Evy and Adil reached Jonathan, Pierre, and Alex.  The five stood, bent and exhausted, watching in awe as the Gods themselves removed Imhotep's power from the world.

It was an awesome sight.  The palace slowly dissolved, being sucked in by desert.  Evy squinted as the huge dust cloud rose into the air, covering the remainder of the buildings.  The huge fog swirled, full of dust and debris, billowing outwards.  Evy squinted, desperate to see what was happening.  She watched as a great hole seemed to open in the earth, as the desert cleaved in two, swallowing Imhotep's beautiful palace.

And so the great buildings, the symbols of Imhotep's power and his place as Pharaoh of the word, were sucked into the earth.  Gulping, the desert shook, then slowly closed up again.  Sand was spit up into the air as the ground contracted.  Still the great dust cloud billowed in the air, expanding until Evy could see nothing of what remained.

The earth quaked beneath them, struggling to accept the huge offering it had just swallowed.  And the desert closed back together, once again sealing off the gateway to hell.

And so, as they all fulfilled their destinies, the last traces of Imhotep's rule were erased from the earth.

***

Yowza!  A lot went down in this chapter.  Anyway, one more chap to go, #35, coming very soon.  Yay to Eviefan for being my 300th reviewer!  I'm going to be sorry when this story is over–I've had such a blast writing it.  Thanks to all for reviewing!

**Lula:** Lol, it is taking quite a while for you to get through the chaps!  No worries, I love getting reviews anytime.  Thanks for still going through it :-)****

**Aulizia****:** Yay, you liked the same parts I did, too.  Yeah, writing Dalil's pain was intense...but I felt like I couldn't abandon that battle, it needed to be completed...and large numbers of people almost always need to die in order to defeat a tyrant and really create change...I felt like I had to put that in.  And did you really think I would hurt my Jonny?!  Well, hurt, yes, but kill?!  Girl, I thought you knew me better than that, lol!  Thanks my friend!****

**Nickie****:** Yep, poor Immy...that is kind of my motto.  Glad you like the story and thanks for the review :-)  ****

**Deana:** Lol, guess I had an effect on you!  Yep, it was kind of a vicious cliffhanger...well, can't say I'm too sorry! Mwahahaha! ;-)  Thanks for reviewing!****

**Silverfox****:** Yup, Alex will live.  You get to watch movies like TMR in phys ed?  That's amazing.  We had to watch scary health videos on the horrible, debilitating repercussions of things like unprotected sex and pot smoking.  Lucky you!  Anyway, thanks for the review ;-)****

**Jessie C.:** I'm feeling especially evil, I can't help it, I like giving my readers cliffhangers.  Ah, the joys of writing.  Thanks for reading and reviewing :-)****

**Towmondler****:** Those are both excellent quotes.  What about this little exchange: Billy: I swear I'm sick! I can't go to school.  Juanita: If you're gonna stay home today, you can help me shave my armpits! Billy: Oh my God! I'll go to school!  Ahh, what a classic.  Thanks for the kind words.****

**Ruse****:** Yeah, I felt the touches of finality were important...they've all been through way too much for there to be a sequel to this story, lol.  But I also feel like it heightens the tension to know that whatever happens...there is no going back.  This is it, the results of this battle are final. *shiver*  Thanks for the compliments and the encouragement!****

**Eviefan****: **Yay #300!  Thanks for the review my friend.  I absolutely agree with you, Rick is a softy where Alex is concerned.  What a dad!  Glad you like my heroic Jonathan ;-)****

**Sk8ergirl:** Wow, thank you!  Yeah, I don't expect to convert anyone, but I just want to make Immy and Anck more understandable...because life is a lot more complex than people being simply good or evil...everything has its shades of gray.  Anyway, glad to see a new face and thanks for reviewing :-)****

**MBooker****: **I'm glad I appeased you ;-) And I'm glad the part with Jonathan made you laugh. By the way, is P2P finished?  I don't remember you posting a final chapter...anyway, thanks!****

**Anya****: **Thanks for reviewing.  Yeah, I thought about making the battle a bit longer, but I thought it was time for this to wind down.  Glad you liked.****

**Soph****:** Thankie...yep, Jon usually does just get in the way!  I like writing him as contributing, even if its only by getting the key to Evy when she needs it.  Thanks for dropping me a line :-)****

**Mommints****:** Always reading at work, eh?  So glad you liked the part with Dalil.  Thanks my friend!  And battle that writer's block!  I have faith...and am looking forward to when you post more ;-)****

**Sabie****:** Thanks!  Don't worry about it, reviews are good anytime.  Glad you got to chapter 33.  And yep, like I said to Eviefan, I think Rick is a big softy at heart :-)

**Mija****:** But cliffhangers are my specialty! Lol.  Thanks for the review ;-)


	35. Hereafter

**Chapter Thirty-Five: Hereafter**

"I am with you, my love, as gods are.  My love dispels darkness.  We shall nourish each other with words and bread.  I stand beside you at the lotus pool.   I am for you.  I am the utterer of your name." –Excerpt from Awakening Osiris, by Normandi Ellis

***

The huge dust cloud billowed into the air, expanding and raising ever upward.  Evy felt her eyes tearing, but she wasn't sure if it was the infected air or her own desperate sorrow, welling up from deep inside of her.

She blinked rapidly, but it was useless to try to see what was happening.  The dust cloud was so full of debris and soot it obscured everything.  Evy stood, her hair blowing gently in the mild wind, as the watched her prison for the last two years billow outward, as nothing more than sand and dirt.  How could Imhotep's palace just be gone?

As she stood there memories surged up within her, memories of looking down over the side of the dirigible as they floated away from Ahm Shere.  Like Imhotep's palace, the huge pyramid complex had completely vanished without a trace.  She remembered the emptiness, the feeling of something fundamental being ripped away from her, as though someone had obliterated a part of her past.  She had died there, in the shadow of the golden pyramid.  And then it had been completely erased, becoming truly nothing more than sand and legend.

She felt a small tug at her hand and looked down.  Alex stood there solemnly, his blond hair thrown across his face, his blue eyes looking up at her so much like Rick's.  Evy swallowed, allowing her son to slip his small hand inside her own.  Was this all she was to have left of her husband?  Was this his legacy, leaving her with his face imprinted on the body of their son?

A movement from the side caught Evy's eyes.  She turned away from Alex just to see Ardeth stumble out of the dust cloud.  Coughing and staggering the Med Jai made his way out, his raven hair streaked with the color of sand.  As he neared Evy he fell to his knees and bent over gasping, desperate to get some fresh air into his burning lungs.

"Ardeth!" Evy cried with relief, releasing Alex's hand and running to kneel by his side.  "Where's Rick?"

But the Med Jai could not answer, his body racked in shaking coughs.  On her knees Evy placed one comforting hand on Ardeth's back as she looked up into the billowing, expanding fog.  Somewhere in the great gray cloud was her husband.  She blinked back more tears, barely registering that the stormy, ominous day was gone, replaced with a brightly shining sun and clear blue sky.

She crouched by Ardeth's side, and as he regained his breath Evy wrapped her arms around his strong torso, hugging his black robes.  Her eyes burned too and they teared, salty drops slipping from her eyes.  Ardeth's arm went around her in comfort, and Evy lowered her head, accepting the inevitable.  Rick was dead.

"Old mum," Jonathan's sorrowful voice echoed in her ears, and she felt his slim form kneel down beside her.  Suddenly she could not stop the tears, and she allowed her hair to fall and cover her face.  She felt both Ardeth and Jonathan's comforting arms holding her, but it was not enough.  Despair crept at her heart, a deep pain, a thousand times worse than the pain of Anck-su-namun's stab wound.  Rick was dead.  How was she to live on without him?

She had been a fool to think that she was enough.  She couldn't raise Alex on her own.  She wasn't strong enough.  She was so weak.  She wanted to sink into the sand for a thousand years.

His blue eyes flashed before her, searing and beautiful, playful and so full of love.  She would never again see his grin, never again hold him, never again feel his passionate kiss.  She would live the rest of her life alone.

Suddenly, a cry, a single word, seared itself into Evy's brain.  Alex had cried out.  Evy looked up, her eyes blinking back the tears.  What?  Had she heard right?

"Daddy!"

And out of the fog came her husband, Anjelica's unconscious body draped over his back.  With a stagger and a cough Rick came forward, limping, and dropped the woman's body onto the sand in sheer exhaustion.  Adil and Pierre immediately stepped forward to resuscitate Anjelica, but Evy only had eyes for Rick.

Coughing, eyes burning and raw, body bruised and exhausted, skin streaked with dirt and grime, Rick stumbled to his knees on the sand.  And in the next second found Evy kneeling next to him.

Their faces level, his dirty blond hair falling across his face, Rick flashed her a weary grin of triumph.  "Want to know what the gateway to hell looks like?"

Their arms went around each other.  "Later," she whispered, closing her lips over his.

***

Ardeth smiled as he watched his friends reunited at last.  Allah had truly blessed them.  They were all alive, and Imhotep was defeated.  Smiling, Ardeth turned away, giving Evy and Rick and Alex some privacy.   He turned and knelt by Anjelica's side.  She had regained consciousness and was sitting up, dirt streaked across her face.

"How do you feel?" Ardeth asked.

She coughed and smiled through her pain, her hand still pressed over the massive bruise on her stomach.  "Pretty damn good."

Ardeth grinned as Jonathan knelt by his side.  "That was a very brave thing you did," Jonathan said, offering her the handkerchief from his pocket.  Anjelica smiled weakly and took it, wiping the grime from her face.  Jonathan hesitated.  "Did you see what happened to Hubert?"

Anjelica's smile faded and her eyes filled with regret.  She nodded slowly.

"And he–"  Jonathan cut off his own words sadly as Anjelica simply shook her head.  No more words were needed.  The two sat there, each grieving silently for the loss.

***

Ardeth stood as Pierre and Adil approached.  "How is she?" Adil asked, motioning to Anjelica.

"She'll be fine," Jonathan answered from where he crouched on the ground.

Without a word, Ardeth enveloped Adil in a great hug.  "By Allah, we did it," he said to his tribesman, his smile widening as their triumph sunk in.  They had truly won.  Adil's face stretched into a smile that mirrored Ardeth's own as the two Med Jai celebrated the survival of their people.

Unable to contain the thrill of victory surging through him, the sheer joy at their accomplishment, Ardeth impulsively pulled Jonathan into a huge hug.

"Ooof," Jonathan got out as he found himself squeezed into Ardeth's rock solid arms.

As the men parted, Ardeth considered what to say.  Although he was a man of few words, Ardeth had doubted Jonathan Carnahan in the past and now felt a need to make up for his lack of faith.  "Jonathan," he began, clapping him on the shoulder, but suddenly he was unsure.  What praise could he give?  What words could he say that would be truly meaningful?

He looked and saw Pierre helping Anjelica up.  Ardeth allowed his eyes to fall across them: Adil, his right arm and brother in spirit, Pierre, a mercenary of strength and skill, Anjelica, the courageous former army commander, and Jonathan, neither a warrior nor a strategist, but a man of simple honor and bravery.  What could Ardeth say to these people, these fighters who had helped them save the world from Imhotep?  The four stood looking at him expectantly, waiting for the words of their leader.

And Ardeth offered them the only honor worthy of their sacrifice.  "Welcome to the Med Jai."

***

Later, as the sun sunk lower in the sky, the group stopped on the top of the dune.  Ardeth and Adil prepared to leave their friends and search for the surviving Med Jai.  The time had come for them to part.

"You sure you don't want to come with us to Cairo?" Rick asked, even as he knew his friends' answer.

Ardeth simply shook his head.  "I am needed here."

The two best friends embraced.  No words were needed.  They were more than brothers.  As Rick and Ardeth parted Evy stepped forward and threw herself into the Med Jai's arms.  "Ardeth," Evy got out, burying her face in his dark robes.  "Thank you so much, for everything."

Ardeth smiled and released her.  "You never have to thank me, my friends."  He took one last sweeping look at the group before him: the O'Connells and Alex, Jonathan and Pierre and Anjelica.  Each had sacrificed, each had contributed.  "May Allah smile on you always."

And they said goodbye, and the group split.  Ardeth and Adil turned, heading back towards the battlefield.  And the others set their paths towards Cairo, and the start of a new life.

***~~~***

Imhotep felt himself floating.  He was alone, but he did not feel lonely.  He felt nothing but calmness and peace.  Pain, regret, anger, memory–all were gone.  

Suddenly, he felt warmed, he felt himself bathed in holy light, and the warmth spread upwards from his toes, up through his legs and chest.  The light caressed him, soothed him.  For the first time in his life he felt held, comforted by a power much greater than his own.  He relaxed into the light, utterly trusting.

"Awaken, my son."  The gentle command filled him.  "It is time."

As the voice entered him Imhotep's mind stirred, awakened–although he did not actually move.  His body lay relaxed as he floated in the world of light.  He felt himself asking the question, although he knew he did not speak.

_Who are you?_

Silence filled Imhotep's world.  The voice paused.  "We are the divine, mortal.  We are the many who make up the whole.  We are God."

The voice flowed through him, a glimmer in the air, pure as light.  _I do not understand_.  Imhotep felt that it was wrong to question the Gods, and yet here, in this benevolent light, with the voice caressing him, it did not feel wrong to ask, to wonder, to seek to know and understand.

And it seemed that the great light smiled and chuckled indulgently at his humanity.  "You do not understand because we have chosen that you, mortal, should not understand."

_But I want to understand.  _Imhotep's small form, ever impatient, sought an answer, even as the light cradled him like it would a small child.  It was almost as though he were back in the womb, warm and close and safe, except that Imhotep was surrounded with light, not darkness.  He remembered something his teacher had said to him, a priest, long ago...from the womb of the mother to the womb of the goddess, we are born and we die, and our souls will come full circle. Comforted, Imhotep once again sought his answer. _ Why am I here?_

The divine response caressed him like silk, smooth as shadow.  "Because it is the time for judgment."  The shimmering voice paused, considering the being before it.  "Three millennia ago you, Imhotep, High Priest of Osiris, were punished for your sins.  You have suffered greatly."

The voice lingered, deliberate and slow as it unfolded Imhotep's tale.  "You were given a chance to live once again on the earth.  But in our wisdom we saw that you did not belong there.  Your time had passed.  Despite this, you served us as best you could.  You have fulfilled your duty to us."  The voice flowed through him, pure and beautiful as rain.

And then, without a doubt, Imhotep knew that the voice of Anubis was speaking to him.  The dark God spoke, his rumbling tones echoing in Imhotep's mind.  "I have weighed your soul.  I have removed the darkness from it, the fragment of my essence that was stolen from me three millennia ago.  I have taken it back."

_So...I am as I was?_  Imhotep's mind asked the question in wonder.  Had the curse truly been removed from his being?  Could he possibly be pure and whole again?

And then the presence of Anubis' voice was gone, and another, softer voice responded.  Imhotep knew not who or what it was, only that it spoke to him in indulgent, gentle tones, the voice itself made of soothing light.  "We have indeed removed the curse from your soul, High Priest of Osiris.  We welcome you to your gift."

_Gift?_ Imhotep's tiny soul questioned, as the implications of the statement sunk in.  The curse had been removed?  He was himself again, fully human, simply a man?

And then the voice changed, and in his mind's eye Imhotep saw the face of Osiris.  He had never looked upon the face of a God before.  The face, shining and bright, smiled benevolently at his creation, and Imhotep knew that he would never again be alone.  After three millennia, Imhotep could finally come home.

The shimmering voice continued, full of love for the small being before it.  "You asked who we were, child, son, mortal, link in the great chain of being.  Now it is time for understanding.  We bless you with knowledge."

Imhotep waited, content, comforted, silent in the beautiful bathing light, and the great divine voice glimmered through him, powerful and gentle and full of love.  "We are the balance in the universe.  We are both matter and spirit, mother and daughter, father and son.  We are the hunter and the hunted, the deer who flees in the forest and also the wolf who gives chase, we are the sun and the moon, we are the darkness and the light."

"We are all, we are one."  And it seemed to Imhotep that the many voices merged, into one blindingly beautiful sound, the essence of the world.

And then, in a searing moment of understanding, Imhotep knew that Osiris was just one of the divine's many incantations.  Osiris and Anubis and Isis and all of their children were just different pieces of the same whole.  Some people saw the divine as Amun-Re, others as Allah, others yet as Yahweh or Jupiter or Ceridwen.

They were all the same.

And as he looked the face of Osiris disappeared...melted away.  Imhotep felt the benevolent light that surrounded and filled him buoy his body up.  He felt the very molecules in his body shiver and tremble with joy and blessing.

And as the face of Osiris melted away...another took its place.  There were no words to describe it, no image that could do it justice.  It was a face encompassing all, a face that knew everything that had happened and everything that would happen.  A face of such wisdom and peace, a face of love and understanding...and a face of darkness, of evil and fear and hatred.  And Imhotep knew that he was looking upon the face of God, the divine, the great spirit.

He was looking into the very face of eternity.  

The face smiled benevolently, and the great, beautiful voice flowed from it, through Imhotep, blessing him.  "You served me and then betrayed me, mortal, but I forgive.  I am merciful towards those who love..."

Imhotep waited silently, in awe, and from far away it seemed that the voice glimmered with laughter.  "Welcome, my child, to the gates of the afterlife.  Your mate waits for you, within."

Imhotep's mind struggled to respond.  _Anck-su-namun?  She waits for me?_

"You have both sinned and suffered.  And you have both found redemption.  Join her, my son."

And the great white light pierced him.  Imhotep gasped, but he quickly realized it was not a feeling of pain.  He felt his mortal body melting away, the bone, muscle, flesh, and sinew being stripped away until he was nothing but his soul.  He floated, trembling, reduced to his most essential elements.  He felt wind course through him and he realized that now he was one with that wind, he was one with the air, the light, the shadows–he was of them now.  And Imhotep was reborn.

"You are ready now..." The unearthly voice filled him, and he felt the soft lips of a woman gently kiss his brow.

And finally, Imhotep opened his eyes.  Before him stood giant, shining gates, gates that seemed at once made of gold, and then of diamonds, and then simply of radiating light.  As Imhotep looked on them, they seemed to glow brighter, brilliant, beams of sparkling sunlight, flickering fire, rays of a lustrous sun.  He knew that as a mortal he would have been struck blind by the sight.  But he looked and saw the gates slowly open...

...but what was within was concealed with the purest, whitest light.

"You have ended the cycle.  I have given you peace.  Now you must return to where your soul was forged...the place from whence you came many millennia ago, before the world began..."

Imhotep felt the voice slide over him, caress him.  "It is time.  Enter, my child."  And he heard all of the different voices of God speak to him, blessing him in a thousand languages.

And Imhotep, soul freed of the evil that had tormented him for millennia, walked slowly towards the shining gates, and went inside forever.

***~~~***

They found the camels, all five of them, at the top of the sand dune, as though they had been waiting just for them, a last gift from the Gods.  Evy and Rick shared a contented smile as the group approached the docile animals.

"But there are only five of them and six of us," Jonathan noticed loudly, swatting a fly near his face.

"I totally get my own," Alex asserted, stepping forward to claim the biggest one.  "This one.  Look, he's nuzzling me, there's nothing I can do."

"Nasty buggers," Jonathan commented, sidestepping one as it tried to nuzzle him.  "Really Alex, I don't know what you see in them."

Rick rolled his eyes as he stepped forward to help Anjelica onto one of the camels.  Pierre walked over and the two men secured her to the animal, careful of her injuries.

As the others were distracted, Evy stepped over to her brother.  Jonathan stopped at the serious look in her eyes, and the thankfulness in them.  Her voice wavering through her smile of happiness, Evy spoke.   "Jonathan, I am so proud of you."

He grinned back at her, drawing her into a huge hug.  "It was nothing old mum.  Nothing at all."

***

In the end Rick and Evy, without complaining, agreed to share a camel, and as they began their ride to Cairo Evy thought it particularly fitting.  After all, this was how her whole journey had begun with Rick O'Connell–riding back from Hamanuptra, his strong arms around her waist, the camel jerking underneath them.

They turned, heading back to Cairo, directly into the sunset.  Evy sighed, leaning back into Rick's arms.  Happiness suffused her entire body.  They had suffered.  But they had been given the rest of their lives together.

They, too, would one day find heaven.

But not after a long life together first.

***~~The End~~***

A/N: Well, it's all over...stay tuned for a short epilogue.  Let me know what you think of the finished story ;-) -M

To my dear, dear reviewers:

**Ruse:** Your review was one of the most satisfying ever.  I was very pleased to see how you responded, especially to the Imhotep part.  Thanks so much for really taking the time to write comments, knowing which parts you liked, etc. really make me happy and encourage me to write more :-) You're an excellent reviewer!  Lol.  And Softly is terrific, I'm postponing reading your final chapter because I don't want it to be over.  A review is forthcoming however, I promse :-)  Thanks my friend!****

**Soph:** Guess both your requests were answered!  Glad you like and thanks!****

**Brittany:** Yay, I love Anjelica too.  I hope I've assuaged any anxieties about the futures of our heroes.  I also want to apologize, when you IMed me I was in an internet café in the Lima airport, I didn't mean to brush you off ;-)  Maybe we can chat again soon.  Thanks for reviewing.****

**Anya:** Lol, uh oh, I have to say that I sincerely doubt that there will be a sequel!  In this storyline they've all suffered so much, I'd hate to put them through more angst!  But that doesn't mean I might not write a different story...hmmm....glad you liked and thanks for the review :-)****

**MBooker: **Thanks!  That would be awesome...do you think Stephen Sommers reads fanfiction?  He should, we rock ;-)  And yeah, our Ricky couldn't leave anyone behind...what a sweetheart.  Don't worry about P2P, I'll read it whenever you post!  I'll be looking forward to it...consider this a little helpful nudge in the butt to get writing :-)****

**Deana:** Yup, you hit the nail on the head ;-) You didn't seriously think I would kill of Rick, Ardeth, and Angie, did you? lol.  Thanks for the review!

**Jessie McDonald:** Thanks for giving me an extra long review!  Glad to hear from you again.  Yep, it is kind of jeckyll and hydey.  Somehow I doubt psychiatry could do it though!  And yeah, that's partly why I see Immy's situation as so tragic...a lot of the stuff (like being cursed back in the day) were not his choices...they were things that happened to him.  Lol, I love that scene in Monty Python!  You've now given me a great mental image of Imhotep dancing about on one leg, speaking in a british accent.  Hehe.

**Jessie C.:** Thanks for reviewing...yeah, maybe Imhotep could have used a second chance, but I don't think he'd want to live in the world at all without Anck-su-namun.  He's ok, he's accepted his fate, and he's ready for the afterlife.  That's how I see it, anyway.  Thanks :-)****

**Elfpixie:** Haha, not at all.  I don't think he'd listen to me, anyway, but thanks :-) Ahhm, to answer your question...I guess my all time fave would be Redemption, but there are tons of awesome Mummy stories...I've listed some of them in my faves on ff.net.  Thanks for reviewing.

**Sk8ergirl: **No worries, I answered your question ;-)  Thanks for reading and reviewing.

**Mija:** Yeah, you're right, it was kind of emotional writing it :-)  Thanks for the review!

**Aulizia:** No apologies!  Don't worry about being late.  Thanks for the praise, especially what you said about Anjelica...I really tried to walk that fine line of making her important but not allowing her to overshadow any original characters, and I am so glad to hear from you that I succeeded.  Haha, yeah, nice gentle finale!  Well, I guess this chapter kind of makes up for that.  Thanks my friend, I do owe you an email ;-)****

**Towmondler: **I remembered my other favorite quote and looked it up so I would get it absolutely right.  Here 'tis: "Mr. Madison, what you've just said is one of the most insanely idiotic things I have ever heard. At no point in your rambling, incoherent response were you even close to anything that could be considered a rational thought. Everyone in this room is now dumber for having listened to it. I award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul."  Anyway, glad you're enjoying and thanks for reviewing.****

**Sabie:** Thanks, I'm glad you liked all my mummyfic, I hope you liked the ending ;-) In response to your question, I'm mulling over some stories in my head and I have some ideas...but I haven't made any decisions yet.  We'll see.  Thanks!****

**AEM:** Hey, glad to hear from you again.  Happy to hear you like Pierre!  I don't think in general he's been that popular :-) And yeah, I agree with you...it's important for both Immy and Anck-su-namun to accept their fates...they willingly choose to accede to their inevitable destinies, and that means at the end they were finally willing to do the right things.  Also glad you like my Jonny ;-) Anyway, thanks for the review!****

**Mommints:** No worries, better late than never!  Glad to hear your muse has returned...I am still waiting eagerly for more H4, and loving your time travel story.  I honestly can't wait for a sequel to that one.  Lol, thanks for the applause, very glad you liked :-)

**J.L.Potter:** Yup, Loch-nah is dead, Rick was having a nightmare about him–the guy kidnapped his son and wife, at different times, so I figured he'd be someone Rick would dream about.  And...no, the story was not over, although this is the last chapter...there will be an epilogue though.  Guess my little cliffhanger did get to you ;-) Thanks for reviewing.****

**catiepie182002:** Hello new reader!  Yay for Jonathan fans.  I'm glad my story will make you read other mummyfic...there are tons of great stories out there.  Thanks for the nice words :-)****

**SerenaWronski:** Wow, thanks!  Lol, I'm glad I kept you guessing the entire way!  I love getting new readers so I was happy to read your responses.  And I sincerely hope I haven't taken a few years off of your life ;-) Hope this chapter helps.  Thanks again for reviewing.


	36. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

***

With a gentle smile Ardeth folded the letter closed.  He sat for a few moments on his pallet, holding the creased papers.  It was the second letter he had received from Rick and Evy, and he was happy and relieved to know that they were all still well.  He had missed them these past months.  But he was content, for he knew his place was here, in the sands of Egypt.

Rick, Evy, Alex, and Jonathan had returned to their old manor and had spent weeks rebuilding it.  Evy had claimed in her letter that the house would look just like new, and Ardeth smiled as he imagined disaster-prone Evy trying to help Rick rebuild their home.  They were all piecing together the fragments of their lives, Ardeth mused, remembering how the great house looked when he had been there, in rather strenuous circumstances, in 1933.  That house was a symbol to the O'Connells of the strength of their family, and Ardeth understood why they had insisted on returning to it.

Ardeth placed the letter carefully in the bottom drawer of his desk.  According to the letter Anjelica was also living with them, having found a new home with them for the time being.  He was glad that the brave woman had been so warmly welcomed into the O'Connell family.  Whatever else was true about that household, it had enough love in it for a hundred people.

Lifting the tent flap Ardeth stepped out into the warm late afternoon light.  So much had happened in the past few months.  Imhotep had only been defeated four months ago, and already the world was an entirely different place.  Ardeth knew that Pierre had returned to China, and the Med Jai wondered what it was like now in Shanghai.   He would likely never make it there to see for himself, and honestly he was happy to live in the new Med Jai village for the rest of his life.  Briefly, Ardeth wondered why Pierre had not gone home, back to France, where he had been born.  Ardeth suspected that the Frenchman hadn't been ready–he had not yet found what he was looking for.  Perhaps he had not found someone to share his life with.  Not everyone could be as lucky as Rick and Evy O'Connell.

Ardeth smiled as he watched Adil and Dalil struggling to carry a huge barrel of water to the center of the village.  They would both be leaders of the Med Jai someday–soon.  Many had died in the great battle against Imhotep.  The young men would have to rise to take the places of those who had perished.

Despite the many deaths Ardeth was optimistic.  They had defeated Imhotep and survived.  The Med Jai tribe still lived on.  They had fulfilled their duty to their ancestors.  He had not failed.  There was hope for them, for all of them, and their future.  Ardeth's dark eyes followed Dalya, Dalil's sister, as she ran over to the two men to help with the water barrel, and Ardeth wondered why he had never noticed how beautiful she was.  He had known her all his life–when had she suddenly grown into a woman?  With a start, Ardeth realized that his own torn heart was mending.

Ardeth turned to watch the sun setting, a feeling of completeness and triumph coursing through his veins.  He was ready to begin the next stage of his life, to move on.  And he was not alone, nor the Med Jai.  The entire world was healing.  Democracy was returning slowly to the world.  There were still places where bandits and gangs ruled the streets, where lawlessness reigned.  But Imhotep had not ruled so long.  People had not forgotten democracy, and slowly, around the world, leaders took power who swore to hold elections, to protect the rights of all.  It would take time, and more bloodshed, Ardeth knew.

But humans would survive, and prosper, as they always had.

He looked over his shoulder, watching as the Med Jai village was being rebuilt before his very eyes.  His gaze swept over the survivors.  They were scarred, but still standing, still fighting to regain what they had all lost.  Ardeth's heart filled with pride and love for them all.  They had all fulfilled their sacred duty–to help defeat Imhotep.

As his mind flitted back over Imhotep, Ardeth wondered yet again what had happened to him.  They did not know where Imhotep's soul went, and would never know.  But a vague sympathy stole through Ardeth as he contemplated Imhotep's life, which had been spent in noble service to his Pharaoh until his one tragic, costly, fatal mistake.  Had he truly deserved the Hom Dai, the horrible punishment that it was?  Ardeth shook his head, knowing that no one could answer that question.  But he understood that as the Creature, even Imhotep himself did not have complete control over what he did.  He was no longer human, but part beast, a piece of him dark and evil.

Because of his love for a woman, Ardeth reflected, Imhotep had lost his Priesthood, his power, his soulmate, and his very humanity.  Anything that could have held any meaning for him had been utterly stripped away.  Ardeth shivered as he considered how brutal and horrifying that would be.  He knew that sometimes people endure such anguish that they can feel nothing but hate and wish for nothing but revenge.  Perhaps not all was Imhotep's fault...perhaps the Med Jai deserved some of the blame.  Slowly, Ardeth acknowledged that it was the Med Jai themselves who had made Imhotep the walking plague that he was.  They had transformed him into something unholy.  And for that act they deserved some of the blame for what Imhotep had wrought.

Ardeth shook his head gently.  It did not matter anymore.  He took a deep breath, folding his arms across his chest.  Imhotep would never rise again, swallowed by the passage of time and the changing winds of the desert. 

The Med Jai, too, had changed.  They no longer had their ancient duty of guarding Imhotep.  But they were still a people, a tribe.  They still had to preserve the ancient knowledge, their history and stories and customs.  Ardeth would not allow the Med Jai way of life to be lost, disintegrated into the sands of the desert that had spawned and nurtured them.  It was their home, and it would never conquer them.

The Med Jai were survivors.  Long after the Gaza pyramids crumbled into the dust, the Med Jai would still live, simply and humbly, protecting secrets of the past.  Such was their duty.  And as Chieftain, Ardeth would lead his people into their new future.

Ardeth smiled and turned his face towards the sunset, towards the sweet hereafter.

***

Far away, in a place of cloud and silver, the voices of the divine once again conversed, musing over the conclusion of their story three millennia in the making.

"So it ends..." the Goddess observed, her voice light and beautiful as a wisp of golden thread.

Another voice rejoined melodiously, the silky sounds melting into the very light and shadow.  "After this lifetime, the Princess and the Med Jai will be welcomed into heaven."

"Indeed sister," the blue God answered, his voice carried across the cloud in the breeze.  "They shall also know eternity...."

The younger, softer voice entered the fray, her voice questioning and full of curiosity.  "Why did we not bring them into heaven three millennia ago?"

"We could not bring any of them home–the Cheftain, the Priest, the Med Jai, the Princess, the Concubine," a voice–or was it two, or three voices?–answered, intoning the names as though in an ancient ceremony, the sounds blending and whirling together in the very air.

The Goddess's words carried a smile as she explained to her daughter the great Mysteries.  "They were still needed on earth, their destiny had not yet come."

The wind danced, twirling in the light, as the many voices–dark and rough, gentle and soft, angry and happy as laughter...melted together.  "They have all fulfilled their ultimate duty.  They are blessed, they shall soon walk between the shining gates and find ecstacy in the arms of God..."

Then, slowly, all of the voices merged, until they were one, a beautiful vibrant melody, a song of eternity.

"I will welcome my children to their gift.  It is the beginning of forever..."

***

~End~

Thanks to Aulizia, Soph, Fan of the Mummy, Jessie C., Towmondler, Deana, Ruse, Sk8ergirl, Sabie, AEM, Mommints, Brittany, and Anya (I think...that was an extreme backwards compliment, right?) for reviewing chapter 35.  Extensive thank yous to everyone in the next chapter.

Your humble authoress, Marxbros


	37. Author's Notes and Thanks

**Hereafter Author's Notes**

Well, here we are, about a year and a half after I began this story.  I must say I am relieved to have completed it, even though I am sad I no longer get to look forward to adding chapters and reading all of your responses.  I hope you have enjoyed reading the story as much as I've enjoyed writing it.  Your comments and suggestions and compliments helped me soo much (this was my first extensive chapter story) and I can't thank you enough!  Thank you to everyone who ever reviewed, and to all the people who stayed with me through the entire process.

Looking towards the future...in my head I have been mulling over some ideas for another Mummy story.  There are two ideas in particular I'm thinking about, although I can't promise I'll be starting another story soon.  This one took so long and was such an investment I would have to think seriously before starting another extensive chapter story.  A vignette or two may surface, maybe not.  However, I do not plan on deserting Mummy fanfiction ;-)  I hope that if I do post another story, you all will check it out and let me know what you think.

Onwards...

Thanks to everyone who **ever** reviewed the story, e-mailed me, or IMed me (in a totally random order): 

Mommints, Aulizia, MBooker, Eviefan, Ruse, Anya, Seletha, Nile Blossom, jonnycarnahan, First Crush, Deana, KatieScarlet, tellergirl, Sabie, Jessie C., anthony1778, Towmondler, Lula, Harpo, MaraJade3, Jessie McDonald, Soph, Max452, Pixie, Tiffany L., kmac, Fan of the Mummy, Bunni, NightsClaws, Astra, Silverfox, hadassaknamu, Buffelyn, Kylie, Well Duh, MissThebes, Lili, Fyre Eye, Elfpixie, KateLovesImhotep, Mija, Karri, Jennifer Lee, Chiizu, AnthonyUK2002, Lissa, ellbee, Vickilyn, GiantPygmyGirl, Rick's Girl, Rawan, FanFicFan, Ariane, R.C., Karen, Ellen, Kaldra15, Queen Brunette, Julie, tunguska, Raptor, Saya, Megan, SweetEvil, M.B., Sk8ergirl, child-of-the-light, Nickie, AEM, Serena Wronski, Kate, Princess Tigerlily, dawn, catiepie182002, J.L. Potter, Sorrowrain, and Nakhti (I hope you get to finish!).  Thank you all for reading and leaving me a review!  I sincerely hope I got everyone :-)

A few people deserve special notice: ****

**Eviefan****, Anya, Soph, Deana, Towmondler, Sabie, Jessie C., Jessie McDonald, Fan of the Mummy, Brittany, elfpixie, First Crush, and Mija:** You all really took the time to write me reviews, some of you for almost every chapter, most of you for the last bunch leading up to the end.  I always appreciated hearing from you, I was always pleased to read your compliments, and I was always excited to see how you had responded to my writing.  Thanks for taking time out of your busy schedules to read "Hereafter" and for taking the time to write me a note.  Y'all are the best :-)

**MBooker****:** I hope you get to these thank yous, because you've been with me since day 1!  Your encouragement and support has always inspired me to get my butt moving and write some chapters.  The way you portrayed Rick and Evy's relationship in some of your stories, notably Pathway to Parenthood, helped me to portray them here.  You're a very talented writer, I really hope to see another story of yours posted at some point.  Thanks for everything.

**Aulizia****:** I honestly cannot thank you enough.  What would I have done without you?  You stayed with me and have reviewed every chapter since the first one!  You read excerpts and chapters and gave me extensive comments, more than anyone else.  Your thoughts and responses helped me shape "Hereafter" and make it that much better.  It was through your Demitica series that I began to understand how a long, chaptered story should be structured.  And your glowing reviews inspired me to write and finally finish this ;-)  Thank you my dear friend!

**Mommints****:** I know we only spoke on and off through email, but I always really valued your reviews.  If I got praise from you I knew that I deserved it.  And, if you didn't already know, the way you wrote Ardeth in "Heroes" assisted me in creating my own Ardeth.  Your blend of fierceness and vengeance and love and loyalty was exactly how I saw him and how I wanted to write him myself.  Not to mention your help with setting up a battle scene–the ever important horse whinnying in the background–of course in my case it was jackals growling...anyway, reading your excellent stories and chatting over email helped me become a better writer.  Thanks.

**Ruse****:** This would never have even been begun if not for your story, "Who We Once Were."  That story inspired me and without it I wouldn't have been able to start my own.  That alone would be enough...but you've also left me so many complimentary and encouraging reviews, as well as inspiring me through your great story Speak Softly.  It was a lot of fun to write the last 14 chapters or so as you were writing your story...I loved comparing and contrasting them and seeing how we each interpreted the same things.  As we said once, long ago, mutual inspiration is what these boards are all about :-)  And of course once I discovered your love of Buffy I knew we were soulmates.  Ok, just kidding.  Seriously, you helped me tons to shape my story and I owe you a lot of thanks!

Thanks again!  You guys are the best and I loved writing for you.  Marxbros


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